


Not in Kansas Anymore

by TheDramaLlama



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Crack, Did I mention that this romance thing was gonna take a while?, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Funny, Gaydar, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Modern Girl in Thedas, Pizza, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, oneshots, small amounts of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:10:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 32,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3820000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDramaLlama/pseuds/TheDramaLlama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Modern Girl in Thedas!" This is the story of Margo Schmidt who somehow slipped into the body of her Dragon Age counterpart. No one knows how this happened or what to do about it, and Margo is fairly certain she must be sleeping, in a coma, or dead. This is a series about how she deals with it and kicks ass all over Thedas!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“so kid . . .” the dwarf ventured looking at the scrawny elf now in their company, “you got a name?” She had been eerily calm since they had closed the rift on the path up to the temple. Back then, when Solas had thrown her hand up to let its magic take hold, she had screamed bloody murder. They had thought she was in pain, but it had been terror, pure and straight. She had collapsed to her knees, stared at the mark on her hand silently for a few moments, giggled and moved on leaving them all uneasy in her wake.

The girl let out her unhinged giggle again, “I would assume so.”

“Sister Leliana has identified her as Arasha Lavellan, a Dalish mage.” The seeker spoke with unease, hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

“Sure, why not?” the elf replied in a cheery voice as she skipped ahead towards the foreboding mineshaft they would be traveling through.

“Is that not correct?” The other elf, Solas, asked, eyebrow raised.

She snorted and turned to look at him with an incredulous face. “As if you need to ask me!”

Varric looked from Solas to the Seeker and back to the grinning elf. “And why should we not need to ask you?”

She rolled her eyes. “People usually call me Margo, if you insist on playing this game.” She turned back to the path, and Varric could hear her muttering under her breath. “The fuck kind of name is Arasha anyway?” and then she mumbled a few choice words about some bad “Taco Bell.”

The Seeker scowled and turned to Solas. “She’s been like this since she awoke, screaming one moment then giggling uncontrollably the next. Could the mark have affected her mind?” She spoke softly so as not to be overheard by the prisoner, but another unhinged giggle proved just how acute elven hearing was.

“It is possible,” Solas conceded, “but given that none of us knew – Margo – before the event, it would be difficult to be certain.” He paused briefly, “a more likely explanation is that she is in shock.”

  
“Perhaps originally.” Margo chimed in, smiling like it was some grand joke. “When I first ‘woke up,’ (she punctuated the words with sarcastic air quotes) I was hyperventilating, my pulse was raised, and I nearly fainted on Miss Cassandra over here; classic shock symptoms.” She giggled again. “Now, I’d like to think I’ve moved past that and am at the ‘grim acceptance phase’.” She paused, regarding Varric, as if really seeing him for the first time. “That’s an awesome crossbow.”

Varric threw up his hands with an amused chuckle. “Well, whatever else Margo, you have excellent taste.” He glanced lovingly at the crossbow. “Bianca and I have been together for a looooooong time.”

“You named your crossbow Bianca?” She asked amused.

“Don’t get him started.” Cassandra interjected, “The devotion he shows to his weapon verges on the border of obsession. When he’s not talking about it, he’s tinkering with it or polishing it.”

The prisoner nearly fell to the floor laughing. “Oh yes! Men and their ‘weapons!’ Honestly though, I’ve never met one with a girl’s name before. Most men seem to want to make it as ‘manly’ as possible! It’s always ‘The Little General’ or ‘Vlad the Impaler’.”

Cassandra made a noise of disgust while Varric let out a bark of sharp laughter. “ _Vlad the Impaler!_ That’s a good one! I might use that.”

He was cut off suddenly when a bright green flash erupted outside the exit of the cave slightly a short ways off in the distance. There was a mighty crack of energy popping around them and the air suddenly tasted of sulfer. A scream of pain sounded ahead of them.


	2. How To Save A Life

“Another Rift!” The Seeker charged forward, sword raised, leaving them all to follow in her wake.

Two rage demons and three wisps. It wasn’t the worst scrap Varric had ever been in, but Demons were creepy as hell. The party held their own against the fade creatures, but the one who caught his attention most was the prisoner. Cassandra claimed she was a mage, but she didn’t seem to use magic, at least none that he could detect (though that wasn’t saying much seeing as he was a dwarf). Instead, she used her staff as a weapon, dodging and swinging with a speed and grace that suggested years of practice. At one point she struck it to the ground so that it stood vertically and threw her body around it, effectively blocking the rage demon’s claws and landing a flying kick in its face. Wrenching the staff free from the ground, she stabbed the demon in the chest and it exploded into green ash.

Immediately, she raised her marked hand as Solas had done with the first Rift and clenching her fist, she closed it.

Varric let out a low whistle. “Well shit. Hey kid! Where’d you learn to fight like . . .” he turned to look at the elf, but she was no longer there. Margo was a few feet away crouched over one of the scouts Leliana had told them about. The lad was injured and in a bad way.

“Shhhhh, it’s ok.” He heard her murmuring to the boy, who couldn’t have been more than 17, “let me see it.” She gently peeled his shaking arm back to see the large wound running across his abdomen. Varric heard Cassandra suck in a breath, it was bad. Margo didn’t react though.

“I need clean water and bandages, now.” She demanded and one of the other scouts rushed forward with an injury kit and a canteen. Margo turned back to the boy, smiling kindly. “What’s your name hun?” 

“T – Trace,” the boy stammered, looking paler by the minute.

“Listen to me Trace,” her voice was calm, “I need to clean out this wound. Who knows what disease and crap demon’s carry, so we need to make sure to get as much of it out of your system as possible before we bandage it.” She paused and for just a second her mask of calmness slipped and he saw a frantic look in her eyes, then in a flash she was in charge again. “This is gonna hurt like a mother, but stomach wounds like this usually aren’t lethal. You’re going to be fine.” She turned to the others, “Do you have anything for the pain? ”

One of the other scouts handed her a potion which she sniffed suspiciously, but poured into Trace’s mouth when the Seeker nodded. One of them Trace something to bite on while Margo set to work on the gash. To the lad’s credit, he didn’t make much noise, but his knuckles were white against the pain. With movements that spoke much practice, She bound the bandages around his torso.

“Normally, I wouldn’t recommend moving him, but things will be worse if he stays here.” Margo sounded exhausted.

Cassandra turned to the remaining scouts. “The way back to the base camp is clear now. Retreat and take him to the healers.”

“Yes Seeker Penderghast!” They responded in unison and set off down the path, carrying the lad with them.


	3. I'm Not Crazy, I'm Just A Little Unwell

“So you’re a healer?” Solas asked looking fascinated.

Margo gave a tired chuckle. “I guess you could say that. I’m in training to be an EMT.”

“EMT?” Varric raised an eyebrow. “What does that stand for? Elven-Mage . . . Thingy? Is that where you learned to fight like that?”

Cassandra turned to look at her too, her eyes mistrustful. “Yet she did not even use magic. Not during the fight, and not to heal just now.”

“I think I told you before that I’m not a mage,”

Cassandra let out a grunt of annoyance. “Lavellan, I have not lied to you as of yet. I would ask the same courtesy.”

“No, you didn’t lie to me. Just chained me up and threatened to kill me.” Margo deadpanned.

Varric snorted. “She’s got you there, Seeker.”

“It is obvious that you are a mage!” Cassandra was losing her temper now. “You are dressed in robes, you carry a staff, and I can sense the fade magics around you. Why will you not admit it?!”

An exasperated sigh huphed out of Margo. “Look, I get that this is all part of the atmosphere of mystery and intrigue and all that bull shit, but I already know this is a dream. Stop treating me like I’m crazy!”

The three travelers glanced at each other in clear confusion.

“That!” She shouted, getting angry now, “Stop that! I know this is a dream and you’re figments of my imagination, as such you obviously already know everything about me! Stop acting like I’m the weird one! This is my dream!”

Holding his hands up in the universal sign for peace, Solas approached her cautiously as if she was a wild animal. “Arasha . . .” She glared at him. “Margo, I assure you this is not a dream.”

“What ever Pride!” She scowled at him, one hand on her hip. “What are you all? Physical manifestations of my emotions? Freud would have a field day.” She cackled again in that unhinged way that Varric had really hoped they had left behind.

“Who in the void is Freud?!” Cassandra shouted

Margo glared at Solas. “If you wanted to convince me this wasn’t a dream you might have used a name other than ‘My Pride’!” She rounded on Varric. “And you! What are you? My sense of humor? This isn’t funny anymore! Just let me wake up! Let me wake up!” She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. “Let me wake up.”

Varric tried to comfort her. Cassandra tried to threaten her. Margo continued to shout, her voice turning more frantic. Angry tears were peaking at the edge of her eyes.

“ENOUGH!” There was such force behind that one word that everyone paused. Solas turned to the Seeker, “Cassandra, this is not helping anyone.” Cassandra glanced at the olive skinned elf, suddenly noting the tears tracking down the sides of her face. She sighed and lowered her hands from her sword grip, taking a few steps back.

Carefully he approached Margo who was angrily trying to rub the tears off her face.

“Da’len, I know this day has not been easy on you.”

She coughed a watery laugh. “Damn right.”

“There is nothing I can say at the moment that would convince you that this is not a dream, or more accurately, a nightmare.” He paused here for a second, “Instead, I would ask for your indulgence and a suspension of disbelief. We will endeavor to be more . . . understanding.” He shot a look at Cassandra who grudgingly nodded.

She considered it for a moment, the wheels turning in her head.

“Fine.” She decided, “This is all too fucking weird.”

And just like that, a mask settled into place. There was no more unsettling laughter, no more talking unless answering a direct question, no more nothing. She marched with a purpose toward the breach in stony silence.


	4. Is This The Real Life? Is This Just Fantasy?

Solas quickened his steps as he hastened toward the cottage. The prisoner was awake and asking for him. Well, technically, she wasn’t a prisoner anymore (not that she would be allowed to leave).  Since she had collapsed after stabilizing the Breach, a large percentage of the population of Haven now seemed to regard her as some sort of prophetess sent by their Maker. That might save her from the hangman’s noose for now, but the attitude of the masses, especially human masses, was hardly a stable thing. Her mental state would be the deciding factor in her survival now. For the girl’s sake, Solas hoped she proved more stable now that the Breach was under control (tenuous as that may be). They could not afford a break down like the one that had occurred on the way to the temple.

“Margo?” Solas knocked on the door to her quarters.

“It’s unlocked.”

Solas entered to see the elf busily flipping through the pages of a book on magical transience and the nature of transformations. There were several other tomes scattered on the floor around her opened to random pages. She must be looking for something, but what? She looked up as the door closed behind him.

“Solas! Come over here and look at this! This is crazy!” She had a manic look in her eyes again, but unlike their previous encounter, this seemed more overwhelmed and amazed than overwhelmed. He crossed the room to peer at the page she thrust into his face. It was a diagram detailing a glyph of transformation that would allow the caster to transform into a crow.

“Are you seeking to become a crow?” Solas asked, rather at a loss on what he was supposed to be seeing.

“What?” She seemed genuinely confused. “Oh! The glyph! No! This is what I’m talking about.” She indicated the elaborate mathematics beneath the image that explained the change and conservation of body mass during the transformation. “Don’t you see!?” She looked at him with crazed eyes.

“Da’len, what exactly is it I’m supposed to be seeing?” His heart was sinking. This meeting was not boding well for the supposed prophet’s mental stability.

“First off,” she gingerly she placed the tome down on the floor in front of her and scrubbed her face with her hands, “stop calling me ‘little child.’ I am not a child, I’m a grown ass woman who knows her shit. It’s quite annoying and patronizing, and if you are going to tell me there is an overbearing patriarchy in this world too, I will punch you in that shiny bald head of yours.” She stared at him evenly, waiting for his response.

Solas smirked, “My apologies, lethalan. I meant no disrespect. I saw that you were Dalish and thought to comfort you during the . . . difficult times. It was meant as a term of endearment and affection, not an insult. I am, by many years, your elder and thought that a soothing presence might calm you.”

Margo let out a sigh. “I guess I was acting pretty childish on the mountain.”

“No more than could be expected, given the circumstances.” He paused for a second. “What did you mean, ‘this world too?’ ”

“OK,” she sighed again, “this is where it gets tricky. This is going to sound crazy, which is why I asked for you specifically. From the short amount of time I have known you, it seems to me that you have a scientific mind and are more open to certain possibilities than others. With what I am about to say, Cassandra would think some sort of possession or crazy magics, and with what I’ve just read about that, I doubt it would end well. Varric would probably be OK, but he doesn’t really have the knowledge to help me with what I need. Can I trust you to keep what I am about to tell you a secret?”

Solas found himself intrigued. “This will not endanger the people of Haven?”

She shook her head dismissively. “Nothing like that.”

“Very well then. I will listen.”

“Good,” She nodded her head decisively and continued. “So, I assume you remember how I was . . . less than put together during our last encounter? And I insisted you must be a part of an elaborate dream concocted from my brain?”

Solas nodded slightly.

“Well, the reason for that particular brand of crazy is that none of this stuff exists where I am from.”

“Clan Lavellan?” His brow furrowed.

She shook her head. “That’s not where I’m from. I’m not from _anywhere_ here.”

“So then, you’re not Arasha Lavellan?”

“Welllllllllll,” Margo twisted her hands together, “this body might be.”

Solas jumped. “You’re a spirit of the fade then!?” He immediately sent out feelers of magic to probe her body.

“Ack!” she shrieked, swatting his magic away, “Stop that! I’m not a spirit or a demon or whatever! I’m human!”


	5. Going Off The Rails On A Crazy Train

“I’m human!”

That stopped Solas in his tracks. He shook his head, sure he had misheard her. “You’re a what?”

“I’m a human.” She sighed, running a hand along the tip of one pointed ear. “At least, I was. Where I’m from, everyone is.” Solas’ mouth fell open, then closed with an audible clack. He stared distantly, the wheels turning.

“Look, that’s why I assumed I was in a dream at first! Where I’m from, humans are the only sentient beings on the planet. There are stories involving elves and magic and wizards and that kind of stuff, but it’s not real . . . at least not there. We have dwarves, but they’re just people with a genetic mutation! And they get really mad if you call them dwarves!”

Solas blinked his eyes against all this new information. He stared hard at the young woman before him. The look in her eyes was genuine. She really believed that what she was saying was the truth. He wrestled with the implications in his brain. This left only two real possibilities: the girl was insane and driven mad by the breach, or she was telling the truth. He honestly didn’t know which was the worse option. Glancing back up at her, he saw that she was staring at him in desperation.

“Please, I know this must sound mad, but-”

“Margo,” Solas cut her off, “On the path to the temple, I asked you to suspend your disbelief and allow us the benefit of a doubt.” He huffed out an exhausted breath. “I find myself in a similar position. I will listen to you and endeavor to keep . . . an open mind.”

“Thank you.” She smiled softly and rubbed her forehead. “I had hoped you would.”

“You said that you previously believed this to be a dream,” He brought her back to the discussion at hand. “The way you speak now, you no longer seem believe this is the case. What has changed?”

“Ah!” she exclaimed excitedly, “That’s where the diagram comes in! Look at this math!” Once again she thrust the book into his face.

“I confess I am still uncertain what it is I am supposed to be seeing here.”

“The math!” she searched frantically through the clutter of books and papers, producing a sheet with frantic scrawl on it. This too, she thrust in front of him. “It’s right! It’s all right!”

He glanced at the sheet of paper where she had hurriedly scrawled the problems from the diagram and worked out the math herself.

“Yes?” He ventured, unsure of her logic here.

“I’ve spent all morning trying to reproduce as much as I can. It’s been ages since I had to do any of this without a calculator, but everything I’ve come up with proves this is correct.”

“Calculator?” Solas raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a . . . device we use where I’m from to solve math more quickly. Anyway, this stuff is extremely complicated.”

He nodded. “It is indeed, but I fail to see how this is relevant.”

“It’s relevant because I can’t do it! At least not quickly, and it’s correct! I couldn’t have made this up!”

“Ah,” here was the missing information. He thought for a moment, then frowned. “I hate to ‘poke holes’ in your theory Lethalin, especially when it calls into question my own existence, but your hypothesis presumes that your own knowledge is infallible.” She frowned at him, chewing on her lower lip as he continued. “Many times our dreams seem to take on their own rules of logic and nature, and our minds go along with them, unaware that anything is amiss until we remember it when awake. Even if what you are saying is correct, it is hardly substantial evidence to support the idea that this is not a dream.”

“I know,” Margo sighed dejectedly. “I’ve been reading everything they left on that bookshelf here and I can’t find any hard evidence one way or the other. So much of this seems familiar but slightly different from the way it is in my world, like your chantry and the Maker! It’s just like this religion where I’m from, but people just call him God, and Jesus is our version of this ‘Andraste’ lady, and he was his son, not his bride, and he wasn’t burned at the stake, and then there’s . . . sorry, I’m rambling.

She took a breath and continued. “There are a lot of similarities, but then there are so many differences too! There are so many minute facts, and lore, and stories, and . . . and, I know the brain is an amazing organ, but I have a hard time believing mine could be creating all of this from nothing.”

Solas nodded, but said nothing. Let her work this out for herself.

“That being said, I can see only four possibilities.” She let out a heavy breath. “Option one: I am asleep or in some sort of a coma (seems the most likely, but there are a lot of sticking points). Option two: I’m bat-shit crazy (also fairly likely compared to the other options). Option three: Someone or something has placed me in some sort of false reality using technology or magic (seems a bit of a stretch to me unless someone has created a holodeck without the world finding out). And, option four: I am dead and this is some sort of hellish afterlife. I have to say that is my least favorite option.”

“Those do appear to be the most likely explanations.” Solas sighed. “The question remains, what will you do now?”


	6. Who Let The Dogs Out

“You do know that’s a vicious war hound, right Herald?” Varric watched incredulously as the Herald of Andraste squished up the face of the Mabari while cooing at him as if he was nothing but a giggling baby.

“Noooooo,” Margo cooed at the dog, scratching behind his ear. “There’s no way thish wittle bubby could ever huwt no buddy.” The Mabari, for his part, barked in apparent bliss over the affections of the elf.

“He’s still covered in blood from his last outing!” Varric cried.

“I’m sure it was just a little misunderstanding.”

“I’m pretty sure I saw him rip out a bandit’s throat.”

“Tomayto tomahto.”

“What’s a tomato?”

Margo coughed and changed the subject. “He reminds me a lot of my puppy back home.”

Varric Chuckled. “have a 300 pound killer of your own Herald?”

“No!” She exclaimed, hugging the Mabari to her chest in mock offense. “She’s my wittle baby puppy! And she’s only 90 pounds.”

“Oh my bad!” Varric smiles, “only mauling-and-maiming size then.”

“She only maims the people I don’t like.” The herald found the spot on the hound’s back that made his back leg kick and smiled. “I would hate to add you to that list Varric.” Her eyes flash mischievously.

Varric gave a deep bow. “My deepest apologies for my grievous offense, Madame Lavellan. I humbly beg your forgiveness for insulting your fine killer.”

“Yes, well.” She flipped her hair and held her chin up nobly, “see that it does not happen again.”

He chuckled then. “I didn’t know the Dalish kept Mabari.”

“Oh, she’s not a Mabari. Chewbacca’s a pit bull.”

“Chew - bacca? Pit bull?” Varric raised an eyebrow

“I . . . uh . . . named her after a friend.” The Herald stammered. “And pit bulls are just a breed of dog. They kind of look like Mabari. Chewy even has the short tail like Sgt. Stubs over here.” She patted the dog’s rump again and he gave a cheerful bark.

“There is no way that is the name of a vicious war hound in the service of the Inquisition.”

“Probably not,” she conceded, kneeling down to scratch behind the dog’s ears again. “But he doesn’t have a collar and I don’t know who he belongs to or I would ask.”

Varric looked at her in wide-eyed horror. “You just decided to play with a deadly killing machine that you have never met before and have no idea who he belongs to?!”

“ . . . yes?”

“He could have torn you apart!”

At this the dog growled at Varric, before shooting a pleading look at Margo who scratched his head smiling.

“No, he wouldn’t do that. He’s a baby!”

Varric just shook his head and walked away as the hound tackled the Herald to the ground, licking her face as she giggled beneath him.


	7. Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting

Margo was sitting down after a particularly intense battle. Closing the rifts really took it out of her, not to mention all the demon fighting that went with it. She breathed heavily, dragging the back of her arm across her forehead.

“Herald, I must confess I do not understand why you still insist on not using your magic while fighting.” Cassandra narrowed her eyes at Margo. It wasn’t open hostility anymore, but rather a deep-seated mistrust that followed her constantly. “You have finally admitted you are a mage, and yet you refuse to cast the most basic spells.”

“Margo! Cassandra, it’s Margo!” She let out an exhausted sigh, “Please, for the love of God-CREATORS! Stop calling me Herald!”

The Seeker made a noise of annoyance. “Fine, _Margo_ , the question stands. Why do you refuse to use your magic?”

Margo looked at her feet and mumbled something indistinct as the rest of them stared at her.

“What?” The Seeker glared.

“I said,” she turned to look at them, “it’s nothing nefarious or anything, I’m just not that good at it!” She looked down at her staff dejectedly, “Ask Solas, he’s been trying to teach me, but I’m rubbish.”

“But you’re Dalish!” the Seeker insisted, still not trusting, “why would your people send you to the conclave if you were not talented?”

“I was! Or at least, I think I was.” Margo sighed, rubbing the heels of her hands into her forehead. She could remember flashes of what she had been like before the breach, or, more accurately, what Arasha Lavellan had been like. She had been a great mage, an elemental mage. It probably would have been better for everyone involved if she was the one here now instead of Margo. “Look,” she tried again, “it’s complicated, but I lost a lot of my memories in the Breach.” This was a line she and Solas had come up with to explain her lapses in knowledge after she had told him the truth. He worried (probably quite justifiably) that Cassandra would react . . . unfavorably if she knew the truth. “I didn’t even know I was a mage when I woke up, and now. . . I’m just trying to get it back.”

Cassandra looked to Solas for confirmation.

“It is as she says, Seeker.” He nodded, “The Herald . . . _Margo_ , experiences difficulty in keeping her power stable once she releases it. At this time it would be unwise for her to use her abilities in battle while she may injure her allies with ‘friendly fire’.”

“I think I’ll pass on that, if it’s all the same to you.” Varric intoned, smiling crookedly. “Besides, she’s plenty deadly just using that staff as a weapon.”

“Oh Varric,” Margo intoned in a sexy voice. “I’m sure you are just as talented at using your ‘staff’ as a weapon.” She knew it was a horribly inappropriate time to be making sexual innuendoes, but it was getting far too serious here.

“Ugh.” Cassandra made a noise of disgust, Solas rolled his eyes, and Varric burst out laughing. Tension successfully dissolved.

“But seriously kid, I’ve never seen a fighting style like that before. Where did you learn all that?” Varric stared at her, curiosity naked on his face.

“It’s called Bojustu. Usually you use a longer, plainer staff, but you take what you can get.” She began walking again, hoping to leave the unpleasant topics behind. “As for where I learned it, if I told you I’d have to kill you.”


	8. Secret Agent Man

“Soooooo Iron Bull,” The herald drawled with a smile across her face, “you’re a spy?”

The massive qunari was lounging across a chair much too small for him within the tavern. His mercenary company had joined up with the Inquisition a few days back on the Storm Coast.

“yeahhhh” Bull drawled right back. It seemed the elf was never done with her questions. She was constantly asking him about the Qun, about mercenary life, about wielding a two-handed weapon, or anything else she seemed to think he was an expert on. Today, it appeared she had landed on the ‘spy’ aspect of his expertise. With anyone else, the constant questioning would have been exhausting, maybe even annoying, but it was different with the Herald. There was no judgment or perceived superiority when they spoke of the Qun and the Qunari (a rare quality in an Andrastrean, but then again, she probably wasn’t Andrastrean, she was Dalish after all). Pure curiosity and interest burned in her eyes. She didn’t ask because she wanted to know, she NEEDED to know, to understand, to see. He could respect that. Plus, she was fucking hilarious.

“I kinda thought all spies would be rogues, you know, being sneaky, hard to spot, good with locks and all.”

“You saying I’m not sneaky boss?” He grinned at her rakishly, his good eyebrow raised.

She snorted, “Bull, the first time I met you, you flat out told me you were a spy. I don’t even think you would fit into most of the hiding places around here.” She suddenly burst out in raucous laughter.

“What?”

“I was just imagining –“ she fell into laughter again, tears peeking at the edges of her eyes. “I was just imagining you hiding behind the bar with your horns sticking out over the top!”

He chuckled at that. “Yeah, they mainly use rogues for those jobs. Of course, that’s the boring part of the spy gig.”

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow at him questioningly, “and that’s not what you do?”

He shot her a smug look. “I get the fun part of the job. I go undercover. The other guys have to sneak around for days following targets just hoping to hear something valuable in their everyday lives. After that, provided they actually get some information, it’s mainly paperwork.”

“So what is it that you do?” She took a sip of the ale in front of her, cringing only slightly at the taste.

“Travel all over Thedas with a kick ass group of mercenaries killing and fucking.”

The Herald choked on her ale and fell into a coughing fit.

“I also listen and write reports, but mostly the killing and fucking.”

She giggled, “So you seduce your targets and kill your enemies?”

“Not always,” he grinned, “but it’s easier when it goes that way.”

“You’re basically James Bond!” She beamed at him.

“I’ll assume that’s a Dalish thing?”

“He’s a legend where I’m from! The legendary spy with incredible, rugged sex appeal! Seducer of women! Player of poker- er- wicked grace!” Her face was pink from the booze and she was talking very quickly. She was a light weight and it was adorable. “I used to watch- uh-I mean listen to all his stories! My dad knows them all!”

 “Yeah,” The Bull laughed, “that sounds like me. You’ll have to tell me the stories some time and I’ll let you know how accurate they are.”

She beamed at him happily. “I can try, but I don’t think I could do the man justice. Too bad Varric doesn’t know them. He’d be _soooooo_ much better at telling them.”

He snorted. “Varric? Please! Have you read _Hard in Hightown_? He’s a good story teller, I’ll give you that, but the man knows as much about spy work as a sparrow knows about trebuchets.”

At that the Herald cackled loudly. “You’ve read _Hard in Hightown_!?!?” She fell into another fit of laughter. “He’s gonna loooooooove that!”

“Tell him not to flatter himself. It was just research.” Bull scowled.

“ _suuuuuure_ ” she drawled, giggling.

The Iron bull flashed a grin. “You know, Boss, I think you’ve had enough for tonight.” He scooped up her mug of ale, holding it out of reach.

The elf whined in protest, straining for the mug. Realizing the futility, she flopped back down on her stool crossing her arms in mock anger. The scowl pulled her thick eyebrows together over her hazel eyes. He could see as the idea popped into her head and she reached instead for his mug still on the table. He was tempted just to let it happen, but the Iron Bull was not cruel.

“Boss-“ he tried to warn her, but he was too late. She swung his tankard up to her lips and took a large gulp, instantly dissolving into a violent coughing fit. Swiftly, he scooped the mug away from her and patted her on the back. He was gentle enough not to hurt her, but not quite so gentle that the force didn’t knock her forward a bit.

“Fucking HELL!” She choked out once she could breathe again. “What the fuck are you drinking?! Fire?!”

The Bull’s laughter roared around the tavern.


	9. I've Got The Magic In Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald is really sort of rubbish at magic.

“Concentrate, Herald!” Solas commanded as he sent a frost spell at her. “Feel the flow of the fade energies as the spell comes into focus!”

The Herald, for her part, growled out something unintelligible as she stabbed with her staff at the ice that had now encased her feet, effectively trapping her to the ground.

“How’s she doing?” Cullen approached Varric who was observing from the sidelines.

“Well, Chuckles is certainly putting her through her paces.” Varric shot him a grim smile. “It’s going much better than last time though. Last time she managed to get a fireball out, but it was so unstable it . . . uh, exploded, rather violently.”

Cullen looked at him sharply, “Was anyone injured?”

“Surprisingly no,” Varric chuckled, “as bad as she is at offensive magic, the Herald quite excels at barriers. Of course, it freaked her out so bad that she ran off into the woods for two hours afterward and swore she would never do it again.” He turned back to Cullen, “Get that in the circles a lot?”

“Actually, barriers are usually the magic that gives apprentices the most trouble. Most mages seem to be able to cast destruction and elemental spells with ease from the word go. Control is still an issue, but most master it in a short enough time.”

“I meant the whole freaking out part.” Varric raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh! Well . . . yes.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Of course in the circles, there’s always the threat of Tranquility if you can’t control your power.”

They looked back toward the sparring mages. Solas was now shooting rapid lightning at Margo, who was frantically throwing up barriers and looking terrified.

“Come now, _Da’len_!” Solas threw out tauntingly as he shot a small inferno at her shield. “Surely you can do more than this!”

“Don’t call me that!” Margo shouted frantically, trying to dodge the rapid fire attacks.

“Is this really all the _Herald of Andraste_ can do?” Solas jeered was moving toward her now, gathering electric static in his hand.

“SHUT UP!” She screamed, jamming her staff to the ground and summoning a shard of ice that hit Solas in the leg, toppling the elf. Cullen and Varric jumped at the sudden display of magic and raced toward the downed mage.

“SOLAS!” the Herald wailed as she dropped her staff and sprinted toward him. “Fuck-sorry-I’m-so-sorry-SHIT-Solas-I-didn’t-mean-to-FUCK-I’m-so-sorry.” Tears were already pouring down her cheeks as she reached him. She stopped suddenly. Solas was chuckling.

“My apologies Margo, my plan worked a little too well.” Solas gingerly laid a hand on the calf of his left leg which was now sporting a fairly large gash.

“Solas!” Cullen boomed, arriving on the scene. “Are you alright?”

“Worry not, I am fine Commander.” He grimaced as he shifted his weight, “or at least I will be shortly.” He turned to Margo who looked torn between groveling for his forgiveness, and bolting into the woods again. “You did nothing wrong, Herald. The fault was mine. I meant to goad you into using your magic so that you could get a feel for it, but having accomplished my goal, I found myself unready for the consequences.”

“I’m sorry Solas!” The Herald gasped between sobs. “I’m so sorry! I don’t like to hurt people! I’m so sorry!” She jerkily reached out towards his wounded leg, “here, let me –“

Suddenly, a cool blue burst out of the Herald’s outstretched hand, shooting directly to Solas’ injured leg and the wound closed almost instantly. Everyone was startled, but no one had time to comment before the Herald began screaming and collapsed.

“KID!” Varric dove to kneel beside the fallen elf, turning her over so that she was on her back, her face white with pain. “Kid! What’s wrong?! Can you hear me!?”

“ _F-F-Fuck!_ ” Margo bit out between clenched teeth.

“Move Varric!” Solas elbowed the dwarf out of his way as he leapt toward her, knife drawn.

“What in the void are you-“ Cullen’s exclamation cut off as Solas deftly cut the leggings from the Herald’s left thigh. There, exactly where Solas’ wound had been, was a large gash rending the muscle.

“Someone care to explain this shit?” Varric threw out, unsure what to do.

“Bastard!” Margo threw her fist forward, catching Solas unaware in the jaw. He few back a few yards with the added effect of a force push. Tears were still falling, but now she looked more angry and hurt than terrified. “I said I was SORRY! I was just trying to help! You didn’t have to go and hit me with a cheap shot like that!”

They all turned to glare at Solas now, who was sprawled across the ground, one hand gingerly fingering his jaw which was already sprouting an impressive bruise. “It was not me, Herald.” He tilted his head studying her with a lost expression across his face.

“Bull shit.” She spat at him.

“Da’len, look at your leg.”

She glared at him, but couldn’t help following his instructions. The wound was knitting itself back together. Already it was half the size it had been.

“I don’t . . .” Margo faltered, staring as it slowly faded into a small red line, then turned into pink scar tissue that looked weeks old, “I don’t understand.”

“What sort of magic is this?” Cullen knelt down and hesitantly ran gentle fingers across the fading scar. “This isn’t spirit healing. I’ve never seen it’s like in all my years as a templar.”

“You wouldn’t.” Solas nodded, “It’s an extremely rare form of magic that was thought to have gone extinct hundreds of years ago. The Herald is an empathy healer.” He moved forward, examining where the wound had been for himself.

“Would anyone care to explain this shit to ME?” Margo glared at the two men, “It’s not like I’m freaking out here or anything.”

Varric chuckled and patted the girl on the shoulder. “I must admit, I find myself a bit lost as well, being a dwarf and all.”

“Ma Seranas Margo. I did not mean to keep you in the dark.” He sighed, rubbing his jaw again and wincing when his fingers brushed the darkening skin. “Empathic healing is an extremely rare form of healing magic where the caster physically takes on the injuries of those she is trying to heal. Once the healer has accepted the wounds on her body, their magic naturally heals them, rather quickly it would seem. The world has not seen its like since . . . well, since the years shortly after the fall of Arlathan. I have seen it in memories in the fade, but never imagined I would experience it firsthand myself.”

“Is . . . is this bad?” She stared up at him, eyes wide and unsure.

“I am . . . uncertain.” Solas admitted. “Having a healer on hand is always a great advantage in a fight; however, if an empath over-extends themselves and takes on an injury too great, they themselves can face dire consequences.”

 “Dire consequences?” Cullen raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

“Death.”

“Oh.” Cullen turned to Margo who had paled a bit at this new revelation.

“Either way,” Solas continued, barreling past the subject of mortality, “The Herald must be trained.” He turned to her now. “I know you did not mean to heal me just now, and while I cannot say that I am displeased, that could have gone horribly wrong if I had been more gravely injured. We must train you so that you do not accidentally take on another’s injuries whenever you come into contact with them.”

Margo nodded dumbly, mind still reeling from all these new revelations.

“As it is, I confess I am at a loss as to how to proceed.” He sighed, turning back toward Haven. “Give me a few days to search the fade and gather the information I require and we can begin your training anew.”

“Alright . . .” She sighed, getting to her feet unsteadily and taking a few steps towards him. “Sorry for sucker punching you. I really decked you good didn’t I?” She reached out a hand to brush the bruising along his jawbone, where upon it promptly disappeared in a flash of blue light only to reappear on the right side of Margo’s chin.

“Fuck.”


	10. Time May Change Me, But I Can't Change Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the absence! I'll be posting more soon!

            Varric stared openly at their new comer. A Tevinter magister, of all things. The Herald certainly attracted the most interesting people. He was just glad Broody wasn’t here. The man would barely have had the chance to say “Time Magic” before the elf introduced him to his still beating heart.

            “Facinating!” The man declared, turning toward Margo, “how does that work, exactly?”

            Margo snorted. “Fuck if I know.” She smiled at him. “Of course, I’m the least informed one of the group.”

            “So you just wiggle your fingers and ‘boom,’ the rift closes?” The corner of his mouth rose into a small smile.

            “Well there’s also the whole dramatically clenching into a fist part too.” She raised an eyebrow at him, “So, I’m Margo, the Herald. Who are you?”

            “Ah!” he exclaimed, “Getting ahead of myself again I see. Dorian of house Parvus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

            “Watch yourself.” The Iron Bull intoned warily, “The pretty ones are always the worst.”

            “Oh Bull!” the Herald exclaimed, “don’t hate him because he’s beautiful. Lovely people like us can’t help it.”

            “Eh, it’s a Qunari thing, Herald,” Varric interjected. “The Qunari and Tevinter have been at war, more or less since the dawn of time.”

            “Back to the topic at hand,” Dorian intoned, trying to bring the focus of the conversation back to topic, “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable – as you can imagine.”

            “So then, are you a Magister too?” Margo had that hungry look she got whenever there was knowledge to be had.

            “Alright, let’s say this once.” Dorian scowled, “I’m a mage from Tevinter, but not a member of the Magisterium. I know Southerners use the terms interchangeably, but that only makes you sound like barbarians.”

            Margo snorted again. “So sorry Mister Fancy!” She made a face and gestured strangely at her face.

            “What are you doing, Boss?” Bull sighed.

            “I’m twirling my moustache and being better than you.”

            When no one laughed, she scowled. “My genius is wasted on you plebians.” Margo sighed, “OK, being serious now. Why should we trust you Dorian Parvus? It seems to me that an apprentice would be working with his teacher rather than against him.”

            “Former apprentice.” Dorian sighed, “And I’ve come because what Alexius is doing puts us all in danger. You must realize there is something off about all this, yes? The way Alexius managed to claim the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliff before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

            “Wait, so he . . . time traveled?”

            “In a manner of speaking.” Dorian conceded.

            “Subscribing to a linear theory of time, I’m guessing that is fairly dangerous?” Margo scowled. “Like . . . Breach and Fade Rift dangerous?”

            “Exactly.” Dorian continued, “You noticed how the rift in front of Redcliff twisted time around itself? Slowing some things down and speeding others up? Soon there will be more like it.”

            “Fuck” The Herald swore and scrubbed at her forehead. “This region’s already unstable as it is! I knew that rift at the gates hadn’t been there last time we passed through the area! Why the hell would he do this?! Doesn’t he realize this world is unstable enough as it is without demons pouring out of every orifice?!”

            Dorian sighed. “I admit, I am unsure why he is doing it as well. It seems like a lot of trouble, ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys.”

            “He didn’t do it for them.” A new voice made them all turn to observe the figure walking toward them.

            “Felix!” Dorian smiled, “Took you long enough! Is he getting suspicious?”

            “No,” the young man shook his head, “but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” Felix sighed, “My father’s joined a cult. Tevinter Supremacists. They call themselves ‘Venatori’.”

            “Great,” Margo growled, “So we’re dealing with fanatical nut jobs. No offense.” She added to Felix.

            The young man sighed again. “Semantics aside, what ever he’s done here, he’s done it to get to you.”

            “Me, personally?” She asked.

            Felix nodded. “They’re obsessed with you, for some reason. I don’t know why. I believe it has something to do with the rifts, but I’m really hoping I am wrong. I’d hate to think my father has involved himself in something like that.”

            “So he time traveled across Thedas, enslaved the mages, and risk destroying the world just to get to little old me? I’m flattered but uninterested, we should probably tell him before he starts making wedding plans.”

            Dorian smirked. “At any rate, you now know about the trap. The trick is turning it to your advantage. Let me know when you’re going to go break the news to him, I’d like to be there.”


	11. Time May Change Me, But I Can't Change Time (part 2)

They all stared in disbelief at the small pile of ashes and scorch marks where Dorian and the Herald had been standing. To say that Varric was shocked, would be an understatement. Cassandra was blinking rapidly, as if hoping beyond hope that when she opened her eyes again it would be different. One moment she was there, and then . . .

“Fuck!” The Iron Bull swore, raising his axe to charge at Alexius.

Before he had taken two steps, there was an explosion of green light between the two groups and a bubble of fade energy erupted with the sound of thunder. Varric’s ears popped and the Bull was thrown backward from where he had charged by a good ten feet. There was a second large CRACK, and the light was gone. Standing in its place, looking significantly more harried and bloodied than they had the moment they disappeared, were Margo and Dorian, remarkably still in one piece.

Dorian had begun to say something undoubtedly clever and witty, but at that moment, the Herald of Andraste launched herself bodily at Alexius.

“YOU GODDAMNED BASTARD!” She screamed, her fists crashing into his face. “You mother fucking bastard!”

Alexius lifted his arms to defend himself, but Cassandra quickly laid down a holy smite. The man was simply out-boxed. While he had used his magic to fight his entire life and viewed physical combat as beneath him, the Herald had no such compunctions. He fell to the ground with Margo straddling him, throwing wild punches toward any bit of exposed flesh. Even had he not been out-classed, the man had no more fight left in him.

“Herald!” Cassandra called, still recovering from the disappearance and sudden reappearance of their leader. “MARGO!” She shouted, laying a hand on the elf’s shoulder. It seemed to break the spell, and suddenly, the elf slumped forward, threw her arms around the seeker’s legs and began bawling her eyes out.

* * * *

It took a while for the Herald to calm down. Cassandra had seen to it that Alexius was properly chained and imprisoned, while Margo had clung to Varric and Bull, crying that she was sorry and promising to make it all work.

When the Seeker returned, she gathered the now quietly sniffling Herald and shepherded her into a private room with a basin of cooled water, which she used to gently wash the elf’s face. People always thought of Cassandra as cold, a stone-faced warrior with a heated temper. No one would ever have called her nurturing, but that was what she was. She was clearly uncomfortable with the display of emotions, and her movements were stiff, as if she hadn’t done something like this in a very long time, but she did it nonetheless. She held the girl against her shoulder, stroking her hair and whispering what she hoped were soothing words into the elf’s pointed ear.

“You died.” Margo choked through the lump in her throat. “You all died to save me . . . and there was nothing I could do about it. I was useless.” She closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

* * * *

When the Herald returned to the main chamber, she was calm once again. Her eyes were still a little puffy, but the look on her face dissuaded anyone from mentioning it. The Herald was on the warpath.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” her voice was cold, fury collected just beneath the surface, “your treatise with Tevinter is no longer in effect. You and your charges are without aid and will soon be removed from Redcliff by King Alistair.”

Fiona paled. “Please! Lady Herald! I beg your mercy! We have children, tranquil, and elderly! We will not survive without aid!”

“What were you thinking when you promised those very innocents to Tevinter?” Margo hissed. “You would have willingly given children into slavery! Do you even know what the Venatori are doing with tranquils? There is a shed down by the lake that is filled with their skulls!”

The enchanter looked as though she might faint. She lowered her head and bowed before the mage. “Please, I know that what I have done is unforgivable. I beg you for mercy, not for myself, but for those I protect. I saw no other option and my foolishness nearly doomed us all.”

“Be glad that I am a reasonable woman.” The Herald sighed, “The Inquisition is willing to give all mages the opportunity to atone for your lack of judgment and foresight. They will be welcomed into Haven as allies.” Cassandra scowled, but held her tongue. Margo continued. “However, given what has transpired here, there will be precautions. Think of this as a trial period. There are already several Templars within Haven as well as former Knight Commander Cullen. The mages will be watched and guarded, but given relative freedom. In a few months we will re-evaluate to see how this is working.”

She fixed Fiona with a piercing glare. “If I see any sort of treachery or sabotage, I will personally see to it that the mage rebellion is cast out and given no quarter here or anywhere in all of Thedas.”

The enchanter swallowed visibly. “We accept your terms. We will take the chance that you have given us, and will see that you have no cause to regret it.”

“See that you do.” With that, Margo stormed out of Redcliff castle, leaving her companions to follow silently in her wake.


	12. It's Not Your Fault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has major angst! warning for self-harm! if it bothers you just skip this chapter.

Something was wrong.

Bull didn’t need his Ben Hasrath training to tell him that something was bothering the Herald, and he definitely didn’t need Sera trying with all her might to shove him into the mage’s path.

“Oi!” the archer grunted as she strained against his bulk, “Cummon! Move ya big arse!”

“Sera,” Bull sighed as the Herald walked by, to distracted by the reports in her hand to notice the odd happenings around her, “what’s the plan here?”

Sera grunted in frustration, then pulled back and crossed her arms like a defiant child. “Cummon! You gotta talk to Lady Bits!”

He looked down at her and raised an eyebrow.

“UGHHHHHHH!” She moaned, “Look! She’s not fun like this! She’s jus’ all business and Inquisy stuff! She don’t even smile or anythin’ no more!”

“Yeah,” the elf had seemed rather morose lately, ever since recruiting the mages. “What do you want _me_ to do about it?”

“Look,” Sera started again, “you’re a good talker and shit, and Lady Bits likes you! You make ’er laugh and stuff, yeah? Just . . . I dunno! Do your Ben-whatsy-spy stuff and make ‘er better! Fuck! Give’er a good nobbing! Maker knows she could use it!”

Bull couldn’t argue with that. Ever since they had returned from Redcliff, the mage had been running herself ragged. She had been doing crazy amounts of work before, but now, she was a workaholic. She was giving Cullen a run for his money with how many hours she was putting in to the Inquisition. If she wasn’t on a mission, she was planning. If she wasn’t planning, she was doing paperwork. And if she wasn’t doing paperwork, she was training with Solas. The woman had perpetual dark circles around her eyes, so deep it almost looked like she had been punched, and she was losing weight. Elves were skinny to begin with, but now her clothes hung off her skeletal frame. Sera was right, someone needed to do something.

* * * *

 

The Iron bull stood quietly outside the Inquisitor’s cabin. He had been debating with himself for the past 30 minutes on whether this was really the best course of action when he heard the telltale sounds of crying from inside. He breathed deeply before opening the door, knocking to announce his presence. “Hey Boss.”

“Bull!” Margo squeaked, jumping up from the floor and smoothing down the sleeve of her robes while trying desperately to rub the tears out of her eyes. “I- I didn’t-uh . . . did you need something?” Her eyes flashed around wildly and she pulled her left arm behind her back.

“Care to show me that, Boss.” He gestured toward her arm and the blood that was pooling in a small puddle on the floor. This didn’t look good. She looked scared, and a bit wild, stepping back from him.

“It’s nothing!” She spoke quickly, trying to master her panic. “I got klutzy when I was sparring with Cassandra earlier. I was just going to . . . uh re-bandage it.” She explained it away, feigning a nonchalance that her constant twitching and roving gaze did not support.

“Then you won’t mind if I take a look.” He took a step forward and she backed up until she was nearly to the wall.

“Please Bull,” she pleaded with him to leave it alone, “it’s fine. I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

“Now see,” the Iron Bull crossed his arms and tilted his head at her, “normally I would agree with you, but right now I’m not so sure.”

“I’m a big girl.” She tried for levity, “and I’m a healer. I can do this myself.”

“Fine,” he agreed, “but answer one question for me first. When was the last time you ate?”

Margo paused. The question had caught her off guard. Now that she thought about it, when was the last time she ate? Josephine had had some little biscuit cakes at the last war room meeting, but surely she’d eaten since then, right? She frowned.

“That’s what I thought.” Bull stepped within range and put his hand out. “Let me see.”

She chewed her lip and looked down, but placed her hand in his. Gently, he peeled back her sleave.

“Boss, these are fresh.” He looked down at the cuts down her arm. They were on the back side, well away from the vein, indicating that at least she wasn’t trying to kill herself.

“It’s not what you think!” She suddenly shouted frantically, seeing what they might look like to an outsider. “It’s not blood magic! I’m not a blood mage!” Tears were forming again at the corners of her eyes.

“I know that, boss.” He assured her, his eyes sad. “The thought never even crossed my mind.”

Relief washed visibly over the Herald. “It’s . . . practice.” She explained.

“Now, see, I don’t buy that either.” Bull ran a finger over one of the cuts and she winced.

“It is,” she insisted, “watch.” As they stood there, she closed her eyes in concentration and a small blue light flashed along the biggest cut, mending the flesh and leaving a small pink line.

“Practice may be a bonus,” he sighed, “but I don’t think that’s why you do it.”

“It is!” Margo insisted, but the protest sounded weak in her ears. “Why else would I do it?” She wouldn’t look at him as she spoke.

“It’s about control.” Bull gave her her arm back. “I’ve seen it before. There is something to scary, to terrifying to face, so to stop yourself from thinking about it, you give your brain something else to focus on.” She still wouldn’t look at him, but the way her gaze fell when he spoke, he knew he had hit his mark. “It’s not the best coping mechanism, Boss.”

“And to think I doubted you as a spy.” She grumbled unhappily, as she began healing the other cuts along her arm. “So, what would you do, Iron Bull.” She looked up at him, a challenge.

“Talk it out, maybe hit something with a stick.”

She paled and looked away again. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can. I saw plenty of good sticks around the fire pit.”

“Please Bull!” She begged him again, “I can’t . . . it’s . . . I can’t.”

He brought a gentle hand to her chin, and pulled her face up to look at him. “You don’t have to tell me, but it will help. You could talk to someone else if you like.”

Tears start falling down her cheeks. “You were dead.” Her voice is small and she moves out of his hand and looks at the ground. “Alexius’ magic sent us to the future and you all died to save me.”

Bull nodded. He had heard that much from Dorian. He led her over to sit on the bed. “From what I’ve heard, it was our choice. It wasn’t your fault. Sometimes that’s just the way the job goes.”

“But it was my fault!” A sob shuddered through her body. “I wasn’t there! I missed two years and you were there with Varric, Cassandra, and Leliana, jailed, tortured, half-dead and corrupted with red lyrium! It was my fault!”

He pulled her to him and she cried into his massive chest. “And then we had to leave! I had to watch while you covered our escape! A demon threw you against the wall and snapped your neck and I did nothing!” Choked sobs wracked her body and her tears trickled down onto his skin. He rubbed circles into her back and waited. The Iron Bull was a patient man.

“I never wanted to be here.” She started quietly, but picked up in volume. “I didn’t want to be the Herald of Fucking Andraste! I just wanted to go home! I don’t even believe in half this shit! I am literally the worst qualified person to be in charge of anything! I thought people would realize that and I could go back, but now I know I can’t! I have to stay or the world is fucked! Even staying is no guarantee! We could still be fucked because I’m fucking incompetent and people are too stupid not to follow me!” She began to hyperventilate.

“Shhhhh, it’s ok Boss.” He placed a hand on each of her shoulders to anchor her to the present. “Calm down. Just breath with me ok? In and Out.”

She clung to him like a life line while she struggled to reign her breathing in.

“That’s it . . . just a little slower . . . everything’s going to be ok.” He rubbed her shoulders before releasing her as she began to breath normally. “It’s ok.”

“I’m sorry Bull!” she looked so miserable. “I feel like an idiot.”

“It’s fine Boss. Trust me, everyone who leads feels that way.”

“I just feel so useless.” She sniffed.

“I felt the same way in Seheron.” Bull looked away. “I hated being in command, knowing that I was leading my men into hell every day and being powerless to stop it. I wanted to leave and I hated myself for wanting it.”

“What did you do?”

“I turned myself in to the re-educators.”

“Oh.” She looked down at her bare feet.

“Yeah, that’s not an option here.” He sighed. “But I will tell you this: you are good at this. You care about your people and you take care of us. You are a good fighter, and you’re getting better as a mage. You’re fair, you’re smart, and you’re reasonable. People don’t just follow the Inquisition; they follow you because you’re good. Cassandra wouldn’t let you lead if she thought you weren’t suited for the job. We follow because we believe you are the best person to follow.”

She smiled at him a bit, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She didn’t believe him. She wanted to, but she couldn’t.

“Think about it this way Boss, the mages you saved will be here in a few days, then you get to seal the breach and you can kick back for a while.”

Margo flashed a real smile at that. “Thanks Bull . . . you were right, I think this helped.”

“It was what you needed.” He patted her on the back, just hard enough that it pushed her forward and she coughed out a watery laugh. “I’ll be here if you need it again.”


	13. It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey faithful readers! I'm back! sorry! I was away and didn't feel like typing everything on my phone! anyway! things are getting much more angsty than I originally thought they would, but that's the way the cookie crumbles. Happy stuff next chapter I swear!

“Shun” Margo mumbled into Bull’s chest groggily.

“What? What is she saying?” Cullen held the lantern closer over head to get a better look at the elf. She was cradled in the Iron Bull’s arms with the Commander’s cloak thrown over her to try to block out some of the cold and wind.

“Cush . . . Shuuuuun.” She blinked up at the two men, “con cusss . . . concushh . . .” she pointed to her head and tried again. “Concussed.”

“Maker!” Cullen breathed, catching the arm she had gestured with. “Her hands! What happened to her hands?!” Angry looking red burns mottled the flesh from her fingers to her elbows. Margo whimpered in pain and he released his grip.

“Ish cold,” she whined. Her body was shivering, beginning to shut down. “Still bad at fiireeee . . .” she trailed off, eyes blinking closed as she nestled into the warmth of the Iron Bull’s pectorals. Suddenly she felt a forceful slap across her face.

“Hey! None of that now, Boss. No sleeping.” Bull shook her slightly, trying to rouse her as she whimpered in protest. “No! You go to sleep now, and you don’t wake up!” He turned to Cullen, “Run to the camp! Get Vivienne and Solas and any other healers. Have them ready when we get there!” The commander nodded and sprinted ahead.

“Hurts.” She whimpered again.

“I know Boss, I know.” Bull cradled her in one arm and ran his other hand up and down her limbs, hoping for some friction-born warmth. “You just let Solas and Viv take care of you, then you can sleep as long as you want.”

She closed her eyes and Bull was ready to shake her again when she whispered something.

“What was that Boss?” He hoisted her up as he trudged through the snow so that her head rested on his shoulder, closer to his ear.

“When I . . . I die, they won’t know.” She whispered again, her large eyes wide open, tears streaming down her cheeks. Suddenly her body began convulsing violently.

“Pashera!” Bull swore. No time for caution, the Qunari pulled Cullen’s fur tightly around the elf to try to keep her from hurting herself and sprinted back towards camp.

 

* * * * *

 

They all wound up in a silent vigil around the tent. Dorian was pacing around the nearby tents walking in circles with his brows furrowed. Blackwall seemed to be attempting to whittle, but after he spent a few minutes with a scrap of wood he would curse and chuck it into the fire before moving on to the next piece. Varric polished Bianca, Cassandra scowled, and Sera fidgeted. The Iron Bull waited and watched.

“Pulling, stretching, ripping, torn between tow worlds. I can’t do this. I’m wrong here.” The creepy kid with the big hat suddenly appeared in the middle of the group, making Sera and Cassandra jump and reach for their weapons. “If I die, will they let me go home? Is Arasha taking care of Aaron? Who finds him when he runs? Who strokes his hair and sings to him when he won’t let anyone near? They won’t even know I’m dead.” He turned toward the tent, the brim of his hat throwing his face into shadow against the firelight. “She hurts too loud. I don’t know how to help.”

They all stared at the tent. A faint blue light shown around the seems as Solas and Vivienne worked their healing magics over Andraste’s Herald.

“Who, kid?” The Bull stared at the boy, torn between mistrust and worry. “She said that earlier. Who won’t know she’s dead? Who is she worrying about?”

Cole frowned, turning back to the tent. “Six pairs of shoes at the door. Little faces press kisses to her cheeks, but not Aaron. He’s too old to kiss his sister now. ‘Margo! Mom’s making spaghetti and meatballs and I helped!’ Chairs pulled around the table. Brothers, sisters, cousins, parents. We need a bigger table.”

“I don’t understand.” The seeker frowned at the fire, “everytime I mention contacting her clan, she seems uninterested. Yet it is obvious she misses them a great deal . . .”

“Wrong clan.” The boy clutched his head before mimicking the Herald’s voice, “The seeker can’t know. None of them can. They’ll think I’m crazy. They’ll make me tranquil. Solas probably already thinks I’m crazy-”

“Cole!” As if summoned by the mention of his name, the elf appeared at the mouth of the tent. “I doubt the Herald would approve of you revealing her secrets while she’s unconscious.”

“How’s the boss, Solas?” Bull interjects before Cassandra can unleash the torrent of questions he can see in her eyes.

“The Herald will live.” The elf fell into a seat near the fire edge of the fire, looking exhausted. “She has a mild concussion from where she was thrown into the trebuchet during the battle, a few cracked ribs, and sever burns on her arms which I suspect were accidentally self inflicted with a faulty fire glyph spell. She also has a pretty bad case of hypothermia. Vivienne and I managed to stabilize her, but her body has gone into shock. I suspect she will be laid up for a few days at the very least, but with her natural healing abilities she may recover sooner.”

“Well . . . shit.” Varric summarized it pretty articulately.

“I would advise against confronting the Herald with the things you have learned tonight.” Sola addressed everyone, but regarded the Seeker specifically. “She is a very private person when if comes to her personal life and her past. Being so . . . exposed, will not aid in her recovery.”

“Solas,” Cassandra looked worried and a bit lost. “Why does she think that I would make her tranquil?”

The elf sighed, suddenly looking years older. “I cannot discuss it, Lady Seeker. It would be a breach of trust. Suffice it to say that it is an issue of an exceedingly personal nature. It will not harm the Inquisition.”

“I have your word?” Cassandra wanted to demand answers, to question and interrogate the way she had as the right hand of the divine, but she restrained herself. “There is no danger to the people or the Inquisition?”

Solas met her eyes. “Upon my life.”


	14. Life By The Slice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless fluff. I apologize for nothing.

“So this is how the newly named Inquisitor spends her free time? Cooking strange and unknown dishes?”

“Hush, you.” Margo swatted the back of Varric’s head playfully, “You all are the ones reaping the benefits here. No complaining.” The dwarf chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. He had been the one who suggested the Herald take up a hobby to get her mind off less pleasant things. Personally, he had suggested knitting, but cooking worked too, and Margo did seem happier now than she had since they had arrived at Skyhold. Varric just wished the elf wasn’t so eager to share the so-called benefits with the rest of them. One could only choke down burnt meals so many times before the forced smiles and feigned delight turned into grimaces and groans.

“What is it we’re looking at here, Boss?” Bull regarded the tray in the middle of the table the inner circle was currently gathered around with a cautious curiosity.

“It’s a pie, but it’s not. It’s too flat and yet thick at the same time.” Cole tilted his head then spoke with the Herald’s voice _“Thank God they have cheese here, now if only I could find some tomatoes.”_

“Yeah! I can’t believe you guys don’t have tomatoes here! It took me ages to find a decent substitute that didn’t make you break out in hives!” Margo frowned, scratching a phantom itch on her shoulder. “Anyway, this is pretty close!”

“Speaking of failed attempts that result in a rashes does not exactly inspire confidence.” Solas smirked. “Also, you never did answer the Iron Bull, Herald. What, exactly, are you attempting to feed us?”

“It’s Pizza!” Margo smiled, looking proudly at her dish. “It’s only the best food ever! I practically lived on this stuff during my late teens.” She glanced around at her companions, most of whom were staring dubiously at the tray of questionable food. “Oh come on, guys! You face dragons and darkspawn on a regular basis, but you’re too chicken to try a good home-cooked meal?”

“Forgive me, my lady,” Blackwall began, his beard wiggling as he cringed with the memory. “It’s just, we’ve all been subjected to your fire-side stew while out on missions, and . . . you can understand our hesitance.”

“That’s different!” the elf insisted, “It’s hard to cook over a fire!”

“I vomited three different times that night!” Dorian frowned at the memory.

“I was just trying to add some flavor! It was super bland. How was I supposed to know that deep mushroom is toxic unless cooked properly?”

“There’s no deep mushroom in this, is there?” The Seeker eyed her portion suspiciously.

The herald scoffed. “You don’t think I learned my lesson last time? I’m hurt, Cassandra.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“Well, it’s been cooked properly this time!” Margo insisted. “The kitchen staff helped me! Just ask them! I’ve been driving them crazy the past month trying to perfect this.” She turned to look around the table, pleading eyes landing on Sera.

“Oh no!” The archer shook her head, throwing her hands up. “Don’ gimme those puppy dog eyes! Not doing it!”

“Seraaaaaaaa”

“No!”

“Seraaaaaaaaaaaa”

“No, ya daft tit!

“Cummon!” The herald begged. “You owe me! You made me eat those god-awful cookies of yours! This can’t be worse than that!”

“Ugh! Fine!” Sera picked up her slice, holding it with the tips of her fingers the way one might hold a venomous snake. “If this rubbish makes me sick, I’m soooo throwin’ bees in your room.”

The entire group collectively held their breath as Sera gingerly lifted the Herald’s cooking to her mouth and took a bite. She looked at the pizza again and scowled.

“Well, Buttercup?” Varric prompted. “Don’t keep us in suspense. How is it? Horrendously awful or orgasmicly good?”

Sera sighed, taking another bite. “It’s good, yeah? Not amazing or nuthin’, but good. Friggin anticlimactic, that.”

The Herald scoffed, “Not amazing? Why Sera, I’ll have you know that pizza is a universally beloved dish where I come from. Perhaps you simply have an unrefined palate.”

“Yes, because you Free Marchers have so much experience with refined palates and fine dining,” Dorian intoned sarcastically.

“Shut it, Parvus.”

The Bull had already finished half of his slice. “Not bad, Boss.” He winked at her, the gesture looking odd with his missing eye.

“Better than expected.” Solas nodded in agreement.

“Why, there are hardly any burnt parts.” Dorian smirked.

Margo shook her head, and grabbed two slices of the pizza for herself. “You people are impossible to please.”


	15. People, What a Bunch of Basterds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald deals with racism

“Oi Elf!” Margo looked up from her book (a fascinating outline of the ways magic could be used to enhance the senses) at the commotion across the courtyard. One of the new recruits was calling after Solas. “Hey! Knife Ear! I’m talking to you.” The man swaggered away from his buddies who were frantically trying to pull him back. The idiot continued, unfazed, approaching Solas as the elf in question turned to glare at the man who had just insulted him.

“Didn’t you here me?” He barked with an air of smugness and entitlement that made Margo want to punch him in the face. “Go fetch a round of drinks for me and my friends here! We’re having a little celebration!”

Solas crossed his arms over his chest, silently raising an angry eyebrow over his glaring eyes. A clear challenge, _what are you going to do about it?_

The idiot scowled at Solas’ apparent disregard for his orders. “Are you deaf, knife ear? I said fetch us a round of drinks!” He turned to look at his friends, most of whom had abandoned him to his own stupidity at this point. Solas’ arm moved to grab his staff from his back.

Margo fade-stepped into the middle of the confrontation. “Can I _help_ you?” her voice dripped with venom, which the idiot was either oblivious to or ignored.

He had jumped a little when she seemed to appear out of nowhere, but recovered quickly. “Finally!” he exclaimed, turning to Solas, “See, here’s an elf who knows how to treat her better-WAH!”

His sentence was cut off suddenly as he found himself hoisted, upside-down, seemingly suspended in mid air.

“Boy! Have you lost your damned mind!” bellowed Commander Cullen who had sprinted across the courtyard when he had caught the tail end of the confrontation.

The recruit turned as best he could to face his commanding officer. “SIR!” he shouted, “This knife-eared witch is attacking me-“

No sooner had he gotten the sentence out than the Herald dropped him in a heap to the ground, only to lift him again higher so that his upside-down head was now level with hers, a good five feet off the ground.

“Commander Cullen,” She turned toward him, “I thought you held higher standards in your recruitment than this trash.” She glared back at the soldier, “Quit fidgeting! I’m not very good at this spell and I would _so_ hate to accidentally drop you on your head from this height.” A crowd began to gather, drawn by the commotion.

“Normally, I would agree with you, Lady Inquisitor, but it seems that one slipped through the cracks.” The Commander glared down at the recruit who paled as he realized whom he had been insulting.

“I-Inquisitor!? Shit! I’m sorry ma’am! I-I meant no disrespect! I didn’t know it was you!” he stuttered, looking terrified.

“No . . .” she drawled, looking un-amused, “you thought I was just some little knife eared witch who should obey her _betters_.” She turned to Solas now. “Do you have anything to say to our fade researcher and resident elemental mage?”

“SORRY!” It shot out of his mouth. “I am SO sorry ser! I didn’t mean to–“ The man gasped as he suddenly dropped a foot lower in the air. He whimpered rather pathetically.

“My bad,” The Herald didn’t look particularly contrite. “I find it hard to concentrate on a spell when people start to lie around me.”

“I’M SORRY!” he practically screamed.

“Herald,” Solas tried to sound disapproving, but he had trouble hiding his smirk, “I believe the recruit has had enough.”

She sighed. “Fine.” The recruit was lowered so that he was only hovering around three feet off the ground and no longer upside-down before she dropped him the rest of the way. As he flailed to get his feet under him, Margo reached to grab the neck of his chest plate and yanked him up to stare into her eyes. “What’s your name soldier?”

“G-Greigor, Ma’am”

She turned to speak to the crowd. “Can I have everyone’s attention?” her voice bellowed and the mob that had already been watching, respectfully fell into absolute silence. “Greigor here has just demonstrated a problem that I had hoped was not going to be an issue here. I know, how naïve of me. Let me make this perfectly clear.” Pausing dramatically, she turned to make eye contact with the circle. “RACISM WILL. NOT. BE. TOLERATED. WITHIN. MY. INQUISITION!” She spat out each word with force and fire while shaking the recruit’s chest plate forcefully, daring someone to object. “I don’t care if you’re human, elf, dwarf, qunari, or a fucking DRUFFALO! We are all INQUISITION! You are expected to treat every person with common decency at the very least. If this is a problem for you, feel free to pack your bags and get out. Any questions?” She glared at them, almost hoping for someone to object just so she could put them in their place. No one did. “Good. Commander, I leave you in charge of this filth.” She gestured to the recruit who seemed to be trying to become invisible by thinking about it really hard. “See that he is taken care of.” Without another word, she turned and stormed back toward the keep, lightning static fizzing at her finger tips.

* * * *

 

“You should’a seen it!” Sara raves with a devious grin. “The little shite was hangin’ with his bits all up in the air, like AAaaaaAAAAaahhhh!!!!!” She pantomimed a childish shriek and waved her arms around like she was trying to swat a nest full of bees. “I think he pissed ‘imself!” She dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“Fucking indulged little pricks.” The Inquisitor took a long drag from the mug in front of her, “I figured there’d be less entitled white boys here.”

“Na,” The Bull took a swig from his own tankard. “They happen everywhere. Damned pestilence. You should see Tevinter. Place is crawling with them, right Krem?” He turned to the man in question, who grunted and spit on the ground. “People. What a bunch of bastards.”

“Should’a let Magey light the arsehole!” Sera cackled. “Prob’ly would’a yelled ‘ELVEN GLORY’ or sumthin’!”

Margo smirked. “I could have, but I’m pretty sure that would be tame compared to what ever our dear Commander has in store for him.”


	16. Everyone is Gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian comes out, the Inquisitor is less than surprised.

“Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.” Dorian looked at the Inquisitor a bit sheepishly. The elf had been rather serious throughout the whole affair, a rare state for her. It had been appreciated at the time, the way she stood beside him in silent support, but now he was rather waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The Inquisitor snorted. “Please, Parvus. That little display doesn’t even make the top ten list of awkward family confrontations that I’ve been privy to.” She smiled at him warmly. “In my family, we bury our feelings, our fear, our anger, and our disappointment, deeeeeeeeep deep down where it lodges in our gut. We keep it buried there until it either gives us stomach cancer or explodes outward violently,” she made wild and erratic gestures, “preferably during a wedding or family reunion.”

“That sounds . . . delightful,” the edge of Dorian’s mustache quirked.

“And healthy.” Margo nodded.

There was a small pause before he worked up the courage to ask. “It doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“The eventual stomach cancer/volatile explosion of emotions? I’ve made my peace with it.”

“I meant my . . . preferences.” He looked away. Dorian had moved on to the point where he was no longer ashamed of his ‘perversion,’ but he had no desire to see the disgust in the one woman here who he truly considered a friend. Perhaps it was cowardly, but he supposed he had always been a coward at heart.

“Oh!” She was giggling. As he turned back to look at her, he realized that she had already ducked in, closing the gap between them, and was currently wrapping her arms around him in a bone-crushing embrace. The Herald was actually quite strong for an elven mage, especially considering how her wrists were actually thinner than the staff she carried on her back. “Hun, I already knew. It’s really none of my business, but I like you the way you are.”

“You knew?!” Dorian jerked back, peering down at Margo. “How? Sister Nightingale?”

“Please.” The Inquisitor flashed him and incredulous look. “I have some of the highest functioning gaydar in the entire world.”

“ _Gay_ -dar?”

“It’s like a sixth sense. I can tell who’s gay with only about a six percent error rate. You guys don’t have that here?”

“Is it a spell?”

“No, more like intuition. I’ve honed mine to a razor edge out of necessity over the past decade.” Margo smiled, smugly.

“You-   What can-   How could that possibly be necessary?!” Dorian stuttered, pulling back to regard the elf with a mixture of incredulity and confusion.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist Parvus! It has nothing to do with you!” Margo rolled her eyes. “In the past ten years I have dated, not one, not two, but THREE men who turned out to be gay! They dated me, then swore off the _farer sex_ entirely! After that, a girl kind of starts to take it personally.”

Dorian stared at her, mouth agape, before he began giggling uncontrollably.

“I’m glad my pain amuses you, Dorian.” The Herald sniffed in mock-outrage.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” the Tevinter turned to her, eyes sparkling, “It just seems like something that could only happen to you.”

“My friends started calling me ‘The Switcher’,” she grumbled, “because I turn men off women.”

Now it was Dorian’s turn to wrap the elf in a hug. “Very well,” he chuckled, “I concede the point that you would need a . . . _gaydar_ , to avoid any more unfortunate dating situations. Sorry for the earlier flirting, by the way. I’ll stop if you like.”

That earned a peal of laughter. “Oh please, Parvus. I knew you didn’t mean it. You’re like me! We flirt with everyone because life’s more funny when you can add a cleverly placed sexual innuendo in any given circumstance. Don’t stop.”

“I stand, so instructed.” He pressed kiss to the Inquisitor’s cheek, who squirmed in protest.

“Your evil mustache poked me.”

“ _Evil_ . . . mustache?” Dorian raised an eyebrow.

Margo smirked, “As if you weren’t going for the ‘dastardly villain’ look when you grew it.”

“Well, I am from Tevinter.”

“Is evil facial hair mandated by law there?”

“Only on the men.” Dorian winked. “Anyway, I think I’ll head off to the tavern and drink myself into a stupor. It’s been that kind of a day. Join me, if you’ve a mind.”

“I could stand a drink,” The elf smiled. “Oh! And I can be your wingman!”

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”


	17. You Shook Me All Night Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally Romance! I did mention that this thing was a slow-burn, right? I mean, it only took us 17 chapters to get here.

The bed was just as soft and fluffy as one would expect from looking at it. Orlesian, definitely Orlesian. The Iron Bull was currently lounging on the Inquisitor’s bed, lying in wait for his prey. She probably wouldn’t come back to her quarters for a while yet, but the Iron Bull was a patient man.

As it turned out, he really didn’t have to wait that long. 20 minutes after he had let himself in, he heard the door at the base of the stairs open.

“Tell Leliana I’ll have those reports ready for her by tomorrow.” Margo called over her shoulder as she crested the stairs. She turned back to the papers in her hand, totally oblivious to anything else in the room.

“So, listen . . .” Bull started. The elf screamed, throwing her papers in the air and nearly falling backwards down the stairs.

“GODDAMMIT BULL!” Margo shouted, clutching at her chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that! What’re you trying to do? Give me a fucking heart attack!?”

He chuckled, “Something like that.” Bull moved off the bed to swagger over toward her. “Look, I’ve caught the hints. I get what you’re saying: You want to ride the Bull.” He backed her into the wall, advancing so that he was invading her personal space. “Can’t say I blame you, but, I’m not sure if you know what you’re asking. Not sure if you’re ready for it.”

“I Uhhhhhhhh” It was not the most intelligent response she could have come up with, but to be fair, The Bull was already shirtless and within kissing range.

“What was that, Inquisitor? Is there something you want?” Damn the smug bastard. He leaned down to look into her eyes.

“There’s . . . uh . . . you and we can–” She was staring at his mouth, framed by scars and his beard. What would his lips taste like? “I’m sorry,” She looked up at him suddenly, “I’ve completely lost my train of thought.”

“I have that effect sometimes.” God he was smug. Margo wanted to smack that grin off his face, then kiss him till she saw stars.

“Ugh,” she groaned as the Iron bull ran his nose against the column of her neck, breathing in her scent. “Stop,” She said pulling away. “Please, just for a little bit.”

He obliged, pulling back immediately with concern in his eyes. “What’s up, boss?” Had he misread her? It was obvious she wanted this, but he didn’t have all the facts. This sort of thing was always risky.

“Ugnh!” She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “I just need to be able to think for a few minutes so we can talk.” She opened her eyes, running them down his physique. “Don’t let it go to your ego, but you’re rather distracting.”

He flashed her a grin, “I can’t make that promise, Boss. So, what did you need to talk about?”

“This.” She pointed between the two of them. “What is this about?”

“It is what ever you want it to be, Boss. You just want sex, that’s fine with me. You want more, we’ll talk.”

“This isn’t just because I’m the boss though, right?” The Inquisitor shuffled, nervously. “I mean, it’s not just for the job, right?”

“Of course not,” The Bull shook his head. “You seemed stressed, and I thought we could both work off some steam.” He paused, “plus, you got an amazing rack.”

She blushed, but she did seem relieved. “And it’s not a spy thing right? You’re not using me for information or anything?”

“Boss, no offense, but you’re an open book,” Bull gave a half-grin. “You’re far too honest. I wouldn’t need to sleep with you to get information.”

She considered it before nodding dejectedly and sighing. “I guess that’s true.” Her slight frown turned into a seductive grin. “Well, if you’re still up for it, I guess that means we can continue.”

Bull chuckled darkly, gathering both of her arms up and holding them above her head, pinning her to the wall. “Last chance to back out.” He murmured, pressing a languid kiss into her clavicle.

She moaned, and moved her hips to rub against his thigh drawing a throaty growl from him. “Not a chance,” she breathed.

Without a word, the Iron Bull released her hands, groping her thighs and pulling her up against his hip. She wrapped her limbs around him as their mouths crashed together and he maneuvered them over to the bed.

 

* * * * *

 

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Margo lamented to Dorian over her glass of wine “The fact that he called sex _‘riding the bull’_ or that I said yes to it!”

“Poor Herald,” Dorian shook his head, sadly. “She’s so desperate, she hooks up with sub-par pickup lines.”

“Poor me,” She agreed.

“Soooooooo,” He drawled as he poured the elf another glass of wine, “Does the Iron Bull have enough talent to back up that enormous ego he carries around?”

“Why Dorian!” she exclaimed, “are you asking me to kiss and tell?”

“Yes.” He smiled, unabashedly.

Margo smiled. “Let’s just say . . . he satisfied the demands of my Qun. He left my Qun _very_ satisfied.”


	18. Death Just Makes Her Angry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight spoiler for the scene after the credits. It's not really that big of a deal, but if you haven't gotten to it yet just skip the first section.

It was a Wyvern, a dragon kin, a mindless animal that would kill him and all his plans for the future. _How could it end like this?_ Solas wondered as his body was shaken like a rag doll in the jaws of the giant beast. _So this was the end of the fearsome Dread Wolf, brought low by an earthly creature who cared for naught but its next meal_. It seemed fitting. His failure to Elvhenan was complete.

The beast had broken several of his ribs and his left arm. Blood sprayed through the air as the creature shook his head one last time, flinging him across the reddened snow. He landed hard, grunted in pain as his body bounced with a sickening slap across the frozen stones of the path. Finally coming to rest against a tree stump, Solas pushed healing magic into the gashes and rent flesh covering his abdomen and arm. He knew it was useless. His crushed ribs had undoubtedly punctured his lungs. He was bleeding out, rather quickly, and he was nearly drained of mana. He was already dead, all that was left to do was to die.

 

* * * * *

 

“Chuckles is down!” Varric shouted over the din of the battle. “Shit! It looks bad!”

“We need to end this NOW!” Shouted the Herald as she sprayed a cone of ice at the Wyvern, freezing its legs to the ground. The beast bellowed with insensate rage at its entrapment, wildly thrashing its weight around until the ice surrounding its limbs shattered into thousands of tiny shards.  Instantly, it began barreling toward them at top speed, head down and charging. “CASSANDRA!” Margo screamed, “NOW! DO IT NOW!”

With no hesitation, the Seeker screamed her war cry, charging toward the rapidly approaching beast with her sword held aloft. She felt the soft blanketing of the Inquisitor’s barrier wrapping around her. It was stronger than the ordinary barrier, the elf was pouring a gratuitous amount of mana into it to strengthen it. With the spell in place, the Inquisitor threw the butt of her staff into the ground, casting a static cage around the right front leg of the wyvern as Varric shot a pinning shot into the left. Screaming in rage, the beast toppled forward as Cassandra leapt into the air, bringing the point of her sword down directly through its skull. The wyvern trembled once, then moved no more.

“Solas!” The Herald was already scrambling toward the downed elf before the beast was even dead. Varric sprinted to catch up to her, swearing over and over to himself as he noticed the dark red pool gathering around Solas. The elf was in a bad way. Margo was already at his side, pulling Solas’ jacket and tunic off as quickly as she could while still trying to be gentle.

“ _D-da’le-n_ ” Solas wheezed up at her. Varric was amazed that he was still alive, let alone conscious. “ _Do-not he-heal – me.  – Too f-far go-ne . . .”_ he trailed off. Blood was trickling out of the corner of his mouth and his eyes were unfocussed and closing.

“Fuck!” The Herald swore. “fuck fuck fuck fuckity FUCK!”

Varric could only stare as the elf grew paler by the second. The world around him kept moving, but he heard nothing, felt nothing. Solas was dying in front of him. Suddenly he felt a sharp slap across the face.

“VARRIC! Snap the fuck out of it!” Margo had turned her anger on him now. “I need you! Solas needs you god damn it! Get out as many healing and lyrium potions as you can find! NOW!”

“Maker!” Cassandra was running up to them now, having retrieved her sword from the corpse.

“Cassandra! I need you over here!” The Herald did not sound stressed or afraid, she sounded angry. “Go in the packs! Find all the bandages you can and stop the bleeding in his arm!”

She turned down to Solas and placed a hand along side one of the deeper gashes. Blue light began to flare around her hand when Varric pulled her back.

“Herald!” His mind went back to that conversation on the practice field after they’d discovered what she was. “You can’t! Solas said it was too bad! You’ll die if you heal him like this!”

She glared at him. “Let the fuck go Varric! I fucking know what I’m doing! The bastard thinks he can die on me and I won’t do anything about it? I _have_ a goddamn plan! Neither of us is going to fucking die today, and if he does I’ll fucking kill him! Now go upend every single health potion we have into his goddamn mouth!”

Varric stared as she ripped her hand away from his grasp and grabbed Solas’ abdomen. One of the larger rips disappeared in a flash of blue light and she gasped as red began to seep through her tunic. Grunting in pain, she grabbed a lyrium potion, ripping the cork off with her teeth, she downed it in one go, growling at the taste. “We need to stop the bleeding. Everything else can wait.”

They worked as fast as they could. Varric lifted Solas’ head, carefully pouring the potions into his mouth so that he wouldn’t choke. Cassandra bandaged and bound the elf as much as she could, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. The Herald healed, her bloodied hands glowing blue and her teeth clenching against the pain as selected wounds made twins on her body.

“Fuck,” she swore under her breath and turned away from Solas to rummage through her pack.

“What is it?” Cassandra looked up from her work.

“I’ve stopped the bleeding, it’s a patch job but it will do, but he’s lost too much blood, he needs more.” She turned from her rummaging for a moment. “Varric, run back to camp and tell Harding about what happened. Have them bring a cart and any healers and medical supplies they have. We’ll have to move him once he’s stable.” He nodded and began sprinting back to camp.

The Herald grabbed several odd looking tools and went to Solas’ right side.

“What are you doing?” The Seeker’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“He needs more blood!” She tied a strip of cloth around the bicep of his right arm and pressed a strange looking needle into the bend of his elbow. The needle was metal and quite thin on one end, with a funnel like appendage on the other. Suddenly, Margo drew a small, sharp looking dagger and made an incision along the inside of her own left elbow. She drew a glowing symbol in the air and gestured and a small ribbon of blood began to wind its way through the air from her wound.

“Stop!” Cassandra stood, dispelling the magic around the Inquisitor. “Solas would not want you to give yourself to blood magic for him!”

“It’s not goddamn blood magic!” The elf glared at her, redrawing the symbol and bringing another thread of blood through the air. “Can’t you sense it!? I’m not drawing power from the blood! I’m just using my magic to act on it! Now stop me or don’t but get out of my way!”

Cassandra stared as the elf moved the blood through the air and into the funnel of the needle.

“Look, can you talk to me or something?” Margo looked pale and swayed a bit where she sat. “I always get woozy when I give blood.”

“What sort of magic is this?” Cassandra asked, still suspicious.

“I call it a blood transfusion.” She replied, turning to look at the warrior and away from her arm. “Dagna and I have been working on it for a few months now. We lose a lot of soldiers to blood loss every day. This is my solution. You can use magic to move water, so I’m using that principle except with blood. It took me a month of practice to get enough control to thread it this thin. Ideally, the mage and the ‘blood bag’ would be different people, but you work with what you got. Thank God I’m a universal donor.”

“Universal donor?” The warrior raised an eyebrow.

“My blood type. I’m O negative. I can give blood to anyone, well any elves at least. I’m not sure about giving to the other races. Still need to run tests on that.”

Cassandra just shook her head. “You do not make any sense. So you are moving your blood into Solas’ body?”

Margo nodded, smiling slightly but still looking a bit pale. “The body can only lose so much before it shuts down. I’m splitting the burden of replacing all that blood with him.”

“Won’t the blood loss affect you as well?” Cassandra frowned.

“To a lesser degree, I’m not planning on giving him too much, just enough to recoup some of what he lost.”

“I see.”

“It’s probably a good thing that we’re both elves and mages. If he wasn’t a mage, I’m not sure what effect the magic in my blood would have on him. There are so many variables here.”

“How do you know so much about these subjects?” Cassandra asked in amazement.

“EMT remember? Plus, what do you think I’m doing in my free time? Not that I have too much of that any more, but I research when I can.”

Honestly, the Seeker had forgotten. The elf fit her role so surprisingly well; it was easy to forget that she’d had a different life before this.

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

Cassandra busied herself cleaning and dressing Solas’ wounds.

“I’m sorry for cursing at you and Varric earlier. I’ll apologize to him too when he gets back.”

Cassandra waved her hand in dismissal, “It is forgotten.”

“I curse like a sailor when I panic. Sorry.”

“We each have our faults.” The Seeker let a small smile through.

 

* * * * *

 

Varric finally made it back, several healers and scouts in tow with all sorts of equipment. They decided against moving Solas and instead set up a tent around him. The healing took most of the night and a lot of it was touch-and-go, but by the morning, the elf was stable if unconscious.

 

* * * * *

 

His mouth tasted like rust and he felt like he’d been shoved through meat grinder. Solas blinked against the light as he opened his eyes. He was in a bed, surrounded by stone walls. He frowned. Skyhold. He was in Skyhold. Why was he in Skyhold? He should be dead.

“When they let me out of here, I’m gonna punch Vivienne in the boob.”

Solas turned to the cot next to him to see the Inquisitor sitting like a petulant child, arms crossed over her chest and her eyebrows drawn together over her eyes.

“ _Oh it will be easy, darling!”_ she drawled in Vivienne’s accent. “ _Why it’s only a little snowy wyvern, darling. A teensy little beast! It will be no problem for someone of your skill, my dear._ I’m gonna punch her in the boob.” She turned to him now. “You still look like shit by the way.”

He grimaced. He felt like shit too. “I apologize for my appearance, Inquisitor. I’ve rather had . . . other things to worry about recently.”

She grunted in assent, then turned her face away from him.

“I should be dead.”

“Well,” she glared at him now, “you certainly gave it an impressive try. Idiot.”

“You healed me.” It was not a question.

“You’re damned right I did! You don’t get to die on me! And if you ever do, I’ll have Dorian reanimate your corpse so I can kill you again!”

“I told you not to.” Solas returned her glare.

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t take orders from you!”

“Those injuries could have, no, _should have_ killed you when you healed them.” He growled now.

“Well they didn’t!”

“BUT THEY COULD HAVE!” Solas roared now. The effect was lessened somewhat when he immediately descended into a violent coughing fit.

She was at his side in an instant with a cup of water. “God, be careful Solas! Your lungs are still healing.” She sighed as she lifted the glass to his lips. “Did it ever occur to you that I knew what I was doing? I’ve been training to handle this kind of thing for nearly a decade now. I was careful. I made a plan and I stuck to it.”

He coughed a little as she removed the water. She was set like stone, but he could sense that it was covering something fragile. “Forgive me, I’m sorry.”

“You should be.” She shot back, though it was missing the heat it should have had. “You’re one of mine, you’re not allowed to die.”

“Everyone dies eventually, Margo.” He reached out to touch her hand.

“Yeah, well, not on my watch. If you’re gonna die, it won’t be while you’re with me.”

Solas smiled. “Know that I am grateful. Thank you, for saving my life.”

“Get some sleep Solas.” She smiled back at him.

“You too, Herald.”


	19. End of the Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short filler chapter, but cute! Real stuff soon.

“They ran out of that cheese dip. Asked for more and they gave me this . . . look.” The Iron Bull leaned over the balcony next to her, offering an amused grin. “How ya doin’?”

“Politics,” the Inquisitor grunted in disgust looking over the winter palace garden, “does that answer your question?”

The Bull barked a laugh. “A bunch of pompous ass hats filling a room with denial and backstabbing. That’s Orlais for you.”

“See, now this is why I always wanted to be a farmer!” She turned back to him now. “All the other kids wanted to be fire fighters, or pop stars, or ballerinas, I just wanted to be a farmer! Alone on a little patch of land with my cows and my corn, where no one tries to manipulate me or murder me! Is that too much to ask?”

“I bet farmers don’t get to where pretty dresses.” Bull smirked. Margo had gushed over the dress she was wearing for hours, driving Josephine and the seamstress crazy when she slipped out during a fitting and ran halfway across Skyhold to show it off to him. At first her excitement over the whole thing had seemed out of character with the sarcastic hard ass persona she usually wore, but Bull had seen the genuine joy in her eyes. She might be snarky and tough as nails when necessary, but she could embrace her feminine side too.

Margo smiled at him now. “And I bet farmers don’t get fancy cheese dip.”

“Probably don’t get invited to Halam Shiral either.”

“And they almost definitely do not attract the attentions of ruggedly handsome Qunari spies.” She traced a finger over his stubbly cheek.

“Makes you wonder if it’s worth the trade-off, huh?”

“Plus, it was kind of fun playing Sherlock Holmes at the end there, confronting Floraine in front of everyone.” She looked up at him suddenly, “OOH! Remind me to tell you his story later. You’d like him too.”

He smiled, offering her an arm. “Care to dance, Inquisitor? The music’s finally got enough of a beat to move to.”

She eyed him with mock suspicion. “You shot me down earlier! Why now?”

“Before, you were a lowly elvhen mage, trying to gain court approval. Dancing with an uncivilized ‘ox-man’ wouldn’t have helped.” He explained, holding his hand up for silence when she began protesting. “Now, you’re the kick-ass Inquisitor and savior of Orlais. You can do what ever you damn well please.”

“Damn straight.” She smiled and accepted the arm offered to her. Bull led her to the dance floor spinning her with an expert flourish. “And to think, I thought it was because you couldn’t dance.”

“Please.” Bull scoffed, “What kind of spy can’t dance?”

They danced for a few songs, spinning wildly and freely, making nobles and politicians titter and gossip like a bunch of hens. She was mediocre at best, but the Bull’s expertise more than made up for her inadequacies.

She leaned into his broad chest during a slow number. “You know,” She looked up at him with a mischievous little grin at the corner of her mouth, “This dress is quite lovely, but, I bet it would look even lovelier on the floor of your room upstairs.”

The Bull let loose a low growl. “Only one way to be sure.”

She turned from him, swaying her hips as seductively as she could while pulling him with one hand behind her off the dance floor.

Damn, he loved this woman.


	20. Some Time Around Midnight

Cassandra was jolted awake by a faint whiff of ozone and the pull of the fade as a barrier suddenly sprang around her, covering her within her bedroll. Most probably would have slept through it, but her training as a Seeker had made Cassandra’s senses hyper-aware of all magics. One never knew when one would awake to an ambush. Instantly, she had unsheathed her sword, eyes darting around the tent she was sharing with the Inquisitor, searching for danger.

“Did you here that?” The elf whispered. She was at the tent entrance, maintaining the barrier over both of them.

Cassandra shook her head. She had been fast asleep before the magic startled her into awareness. Varric should be on watch outside, but it was dead quiet. The elf’s ears twitched. “Stay here, I’m gonna go check it out.” She turned to open the tent flap.

“Wait!” Cassandra hissed, “Margo, it is too dangerous for the Inquisitor to go out unprotect–”

“SHhhHHHhhh!” The elf frantically gestured, pressing one hand to the Seeker’s mouth while the other fanned the air down. Before she could object more, the Herald scampered out of the tent.

“Herald!” Varric’s voice sounded startled, then jovial. “Having trouble sleepi–” He trailed off as the Herald began wildly gesticulating at him to be quiet. Cassandra moved out in front of the tent to see Varric glancing around cautiously, his Crossbow cocked and ready, and the elf moving stealthily away from the fire, towards the woods. Gripping her sword, Cassandra made to follow her, when suddenly the woman leapt on to the only other occupied tent in the little circle around the fire. There was an undignified squawk from Dorian as the canvas collapsed around him, waking him from his sleep.

“Thought you could hide from me?! Come on out you fucking hipsters!” The Inquisitor screamed as she wielded her staff like a club and began pummeling the tent and its unfortunate inhabitant with it.

Garbled Tevene curses and swears sprang from the moving lumps in the canvas as the Tevinter Mage fumbled his way out of the tent looking bruised and disheveled. Margo seemed to pay no mind as her would-be victim escaped, but continued to beat the fallen canvas and tent poles into submission while shouting something about “hipsters.”

Dorian’s moustache was askew on one side and the kohl around his eyes was smeared. He looked flabbergasted at Varric, Cassandra, and the elf, then back at Cassandra. “Has she lost her maker-given mind!?!”

“Herald!” Cassandra hissed, trying to reach the elf but to no avail.

Suddenly, Margo stopped and stood ramrod straight, facing away from them.

“Yeah,” She said to no one in particular, “Oh! So . . . But no- he said. . .  Well then, I guess we shouldn’t invite him now. Thank you.” She turned to face her companions who were staring at her, mouths agape. “It’s OK, kids.” She smiled at them warmly.” Collin Firth says the hipsters won’t be here till winter.”

“Who- How- What in Thedas is going on here!?” Dorian demanded, again looking around in the circle, head snapping to each person.

The Herald approached him suddenly, stepping right up to him and clasping a hand over his mouth. “SHHHHHHHHH!” She hissed placing her pointer finger over her own lips. “The hipsters might be gone, but there are still bears around.”  Then, without another word she smiled and skipped back to her tent. Almost instantly the sound of soft snoring could be heard inside.

Dorian whipped around to Varric and Cassandra, “What the fuck was that!?”

 

* * * * *

 

The Herald of Andraste awoke the next morning to the strange sensation of being tied snugly into her bedroll. She tried to wiggle out of it, but it was to no avail as her arms were tied to her sides.

“Uhhhhhh Cassandra?” The elf called, rolling her bedroll over to get a good look at the rest of the empty tent. “Cassandra?”

The front flap of the tent sprung open as Varric’s head popped into view. “Good morning your Inquisitorialness!” He greeted cheerfully.

“Varric, is there a particular reason why I’m tied to my sleeping bag? I mean, I’m as kinky as the next girl, don’t get me wrong, but I usually like to be informed about such happenings.”

Varric snorted. “Kid, I don’t even want to know what you and the Bull get up to when you have your alone times. Do you remember anything about last night?”

“Yesssss,” Margo trailed, wondering where this was going. “It was a normal night. Dorian cooked, you took first watch, and Cassandra and I bunked down.”

“Do you remember what happened after that?” He prompted, a curious expression on his face.

“I was asleep.”

“Have some interesting dreams, Herald?”

“Oh FUCK!” She grimaced. “I . . . sleep-talked, didn’t I?”

“Quite a bit more than talking!” A voice groused from outside the tent. “Attacked in the middle of the night by my valiant leader! Oh how great it is to be a part of the Inquisition!”

“Don’t mind Sparkler,” Varric smiled, “He’s not a morning person.”

“I sleep-walked!?”

“Sleep-ATTACKED!” Shouted Dorian.

“Shit!” the elf cringed again, “I didn’t hurt anyone did I?”

“Not really,” Varric replied, to which Dorian guffawed loudly.

“I thought I was over it!” Margo sighed, “I haven’t sleep-walked in years! Sleep-talking is still a thing, but I haven’t attacked someone in ages!”

“It’s happened before?!” Dorian stuck his head in through the opening above Varric’s.

“Well, I decked my dad once. But it was an accident! And it was a long time ago when I was still allowed to eat chocolate!” The elf sighed and shook her head. “Look, can we talk about this when I’m not tied into my bedroll?”

“Frankly,” Dorian sniffed, “I’m not sure I’m willing to risk it.”

It took a lot of negotiating, but eventually, the Herald was released from her blanketed prison after begrudgingly agreeing to allow Cassandra to tie a rope around her foot and anchor her to a tent pole for the rest of the nights on the trip.


	21. The Scarlet Curse

“So Cullen, you’ll assign some troops to guard the refugees on their way from the Crossroads,” the Inquisitor planned out their next movements on the war table, “and Leliana you’ll . . . encourage the Comtesse to lend her support to the effort there.”

The spy nodded with a sly grin. “The Comtesse suddenly expressed a great interest in helping the less fortunate when I _helpfully_ pointed out the error in her book keeping with all that unaccounted for and _un-taxed_ wealth she was accruing.”

The elf smiled wickedly. “You’re too kind, Leliana. Helpful indeed.”

“I strive to do the Maker’s will.” The rogue smiled back.

Suddenly, the Inquisitor grimaced and dropped a hand to her abdomen.

“Are you well, my lady?” Cullen looked at her, concerned. “We can adjourn the meeting if you are ill.”

“It’s nothing.” Margo waved him away, a smile returning to her face, masking discomfort. “I’ll be fine.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Josephine, “before I forget, Arle Teagan will be staying in the area for the week. He had hoped to meet with you at some point during that time to discuss the matter at Redcliffe. With the rebel mages gone, the city is under-fortified against attack and Venatori have been gathering in the Hinterlands.”

“That works out perfectly!” Cullen clapped his hands together, “Herald, you can ride out with the troops when they go to secure the Crossroads. I believe you said you and Dorian had some business to attend to in the Hinterlands anyway. We’ll make preparations today and everyone can ride out together at first light.”

The Herald grimaced. “Um, that’s ok. Have your troops ride out tomorrow. My team and I will wait a few days.”

“Why?” Cullen’s brows furrowed, “I know you are more than capable, Inquisitor, but I would prefer you to travel with as much protection as possible. Not to mention, it would do wonders for moral for the troops to ride along side you.”

“I agree with the Commander.” Josephine nodded to her clipboard. “The Arle is a very busy man, and it would be best to meet with him as soon as possible.”

 _“Josie!”_ The elf’s pleading tone made the diplomat look up. “It’s . . . uh- the _‘full moon’_.”

“Goodness! Is it that time already?” Josephine flipped through the papers on her board. “Yes, you’re right, Herald. We’ll delay the meeting for . . . three days?” She shot a questioning look at Margo who nodded with a small smile. “Three days then!” She concluded.

“I don’t understand.” Cullen frowned, “Why are we waiting three days? And what does the full moon have to do with it?”

“Cullen-” Leliana warned.

“I . . . umm . . . find myself indisposed.” The elf was studying the table furiously. “Let’s just say, I will not be in the mood to best represent the Inquisition.”

“I don’t understand,” The Commander repeated. Was she doubting her skills? Did she need some encouragement? “You have always shown the utmost dignity and skill when dealing with politics as the head of the Inquisition in the past.”

She snorted. “And I’m sure I will again, just _not in the next few days._ ”

“Why not?”

“Do you want a diplomatic incident?” She snapped.

Josephine groaned, closing her eyes in pain that anyone could be that oblivious. Leliana was pressing her head into her hands.

“I’m expecting my monthly gift.” The Inquisitor looked at him with raised eyebrows, as though she couldn’t believe anyone could be this thick.

Cullen just looked confused.

“I’m surfing the crimson tide. I’ve fallen to the Communists. My great aunt Flo is in town. It’s shark week. I was given the Red Badge of Courage. I’m closed for maintenance. There’s a crime scene in my pants. I’ve been placed under the scarlet curse. I’m flying the RED FLAG.”

“MAKER Cullen!” Leliana practically shouted, “You have sisters!”

“Oh.” Sudden realization dawned across the Commander’s face and a furious blush instantly sprang forward.

“I’m just gonna bang my head against the table here until it stops being awkward.” The Inquisitor let her head fall to the table, hitting the Anderfells. “Ow.”

Leliana just shook her head. “He’s even worse than Alistair.”


	22. All You Need Is Love

Bull lounged on the bed, stretched out seductively as Margo pulled her shirt back on over her head. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

He was still grinning in the after-glow of their recent passion. Shit. She probably should have gone first when they were “exchanging gifts,” but he knew she couldn’t resist it when he did that thing with his tongue on her neck. Margo chewed on her lower lip. This would probably be the last time they did this. He would end it after this, for sure. _Just spit it out and get it over with_! “Um, so listen. Bull . . . I-”

Suddenly the door banged open. “Sorry to disturb your rest, Inquisitor, but I- AUGH!” Cullen had finally looked up from the reports he had been so focused on only to find a complete and unimpeded view of the still incredibly naked Iron Bull. Margo was fully clothed at this point, _thank God_ , but she still shrieked and threw her arms over her chest.

“Cullen, how’s it hangin’?” The Bull smiled unabashed and made no movement to cover his nudity.

For his part, the Commander turned 15 shades of red and was quite decidedly not looking at the pair in the room. “I’m s-sorry!” he stammered, desperately trying to back out of the room.

“Is the Inquisitor awake?” Margo heard the familiar Spanish/Antivan accent drawing closer as Lady Montilyet entered the small tower room. “I thought we might- OHH!” She sputtered as she was confronted by the gruesome sight that had left Cullen the color of rashvine.

“CLOSE THE GODDAMNED DOOR!” Margo Bellowed, shocking Cullen out of his trance. He turned to grab the door nob, frantically rambling apologies while Josephine continued to stare, slack-jawed.

“Is something the matt- Wa AH!” Cassandra had barely taken a step into the room when she jumped backwards, eyes the size of saucers.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Bull rolled his eyes.

“OUT!” Margo was practically screaming now. “GET THE FUCK OUT!” She grabbed Cullen and herded him, Josephine and Cassandra out the open door.

“But! You – he . . . I!” Cassandra stuttered as the elf shoved them through the doorway.

“Later!” She hissed, slamming the door in their astonished faces and locking it behind them. Margo collapsed with her back against the door and slid down until she could sit on the ground with her head in her hands. “Fuck.” She could hear the Seeker angrily questioning Cullen and Josephine, then stomping away. “Fuck.”

“You ok, boss?” Bull came over to sit on the floor beside her.

She turned and slugged him in the arm. “You didn’t lock the door?!” She glared as he chuckled.

“As I recall, boss, you were the last on to come into the room. I believe it was your responsibility to lock the door behind you.”

“But you’re the guy!” she whined, “And it’s your room! It’s your job to make sure we’re not disturbed!”

The Bull sighed. All that work, getting her relaxed and taking away her stress, now she was tensed up like a spring again. “Sorry, Boss.”

The elf groaned and leaned her head back so that it clunked against the door. “Why did it have to happen today!?”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. We couldn’t keep it a secret forever. Why does today matter?” She had something she wasn’t telling him, that much he knew. The way she chewed her lip and cringed meant that she was thinking hard to try to find the right words. She was probably going to call it off. After being discovered so publicly and in front of her advisors no less, it made sense that she would cut and run. Bull sighed again. He would miss this. He would miss her.

“Bull . . . look.” She shook her head and tried again, “Bull . . _. fuck_!” She stood up and started pacing angrily around the room. “Look, what we have here is good, right?” She stopped her pacing to look at him.

He nodded slowly, “yeah.”

“And, I mean, who knows how long I’ll even be here.” She began pacing around the room again. “We face death and doom on a daily basis. The world’s going to shit and I don’t even fit in here anyway. I’ll probably end up dead before this whole thing’s over and-”

“Katoh.” Bull stood now, coming up to cup her face in his hands. “Stop, what are you trying to say?” He ran a soothing thumb over the ridge of her cheek.

“I’m sorry.” Her gaze fell down to his feet. “I was trying to say something, but it freaks me out and I started rambling. It got a bit morbid there.”

“What are you trying to say?” He repeated himself, drawing her chin up so that she looked him in the eye.

“Bull,” she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I-like-you-and-I-think-I’m-in-love-with-you-but-we-said-this-was-just-a-casual-thing-and-I-didn’t-want-to-pressure-you-and-if-you-wanna-stop-I’ll-stop-and-I-”

“Shhhhhh” Bull silenced her with a finger on her lips. “Shh. Calm down.” He smiled down at her as he pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead above her worried eyebrows.

“Look,” her eyes were big as she gazed up at him. “I know you said Qunari don’t really do relationships. I . . . I understand if you don’t feel the same. There are a million reasons why we should end this now, but . . . I love you, Bull.”

“Kadan.” His heart swelled with the love for her he had denied himself all this time. He drew her into a searing open-mouthed kiss. “My heart. I love you too.”

She giggled, breathlessly as she pulled away from the kiss. “I was sure you would end it.”

“Never.” He growled, touching their foreheads together and breathing in her scent.

 

* * * * *

 

“Oh! I almost forgot!” She bolted up from the bed where they had just consummated their confessions of love. “I have something for you!”

Bull groaned throwing an arm over his eyes. “Woman, that’s how this whole thing got started. I have nothing left to give!”

She bent down to look through her pack and he groaned again as she shook her ass tauntingly at him. Turning back to him with her hands behind her back, she shot him a nervous grin. “So . . . uh, I made a thing.” He ginned as she brought the item in question into view, anxiously tucking her bangs behind her pointed ear. “It’s a dragon’s tooth. Cut in half . . . like you said. So we can be together no matter where life takes us.”

Bull chuckled, taking half of the tooth and draping the chain over his head. “It’s not often people surprise me, Kadan.”

“You called me that before,” she moved into his lap on the bed. “What does it mean?”

He placed the other chain around her neck. “My heart.” She pressed the two halves of the tooth back together and he smiled. “What would you have done with this if we had broken up?” Bull asked curiously.

“Oh, I don’t know. Probably thrown it off the ramparts or something symbolic like that, then gone back to my room with Dorian and drank myself into a stupor. I had him on stand by just in case.”

“You really thought I would end it?”

She smirked. “I’m a girl scout. Always prepared.”

Bull chuckled again. “So I guess that means you have a plan on how to deal with Cassandra, Cullen and Josephine?”

Margo paled. “Fuck! I knew I was forgetting something!”


	23. Into the Fade

This is insane. This is fucking insane. They are _in_ the fade. The actual fade! Where demons and shit live! The Iron Bull kept one hand on his great axe at all times and took deep, steadying breaths through his nose. Fucking demons. He could kill Krem for ever suggesting they go to the Inquisition. This was  not part of the fucking deal! All he was supposed to do was to keep tabs on the Inquisition, kill assholes, and make sure none of this shit storm was heading toward Par Vollen. Now they were trapped in his fucking nightmare following the spirit of the dead divine. _Don’t think. Empty your mind. Be the mindless weapon. A weapon does not fear._

Suddenly, there was a gentle squeeze on his left bicep and he started. It’s just Margo, her warm blue eyes offer a tentative smile up at him. Her hand grounds him.

“You doin’ alright, Boss?” He looked at her with concern and she flashed a brilliant smile at him.

“Oh, you know me,” she rubbed his arm before walking ahead of him a bit and glancing over her shoulder seductively, “I’m always _fine_.” Bull snorted and rolls his eyes. The Inquisitor hates tension. It’s just like her to make a joke, innuendo, or both to put people at ease, or at the very least distract them from their worries. “Though I could do without all the knee-high puddles of water and rot. My boots squelch when I walk.”

Suddenly, a booming voice cut through the group. “ **The Qunari will make an excellent host for one of my minions.** ” Bull drew his axe and held it in front of him, ready to attack. Margo and Cassandra glared up at the sky. The voice seemed to emanate from every aspect of the landscape, as if the fear demon inhabited the very ground they walked on. “ **Or maybe** ,” it purred, “ **I’ll ride it myself**.”

The Bull’s face contorted into a vicious snarl. “I’d like to see you try!” He bit out the words through clenched teeth.

“Well I wouldn’t!” The herald growled, wrapping her arms around one of his meaty arms and shouting up at the sky. “Bull’s my man! I’m the only one who gets to ride him!”

Honestly, she hadn’t expected much with the joke, but she didn’t even get that little “Tch” of disgust from Cassandra. Even Varric, who was usually only too happy to follow her into the gutter, was silent and on-edge; Bianca in his hands and trained toward the horizon. The tension was killing her.

Bull was scared. You would never be able to tell unless you knew him, but over the past eight months, Margo had become intimately familiar with his tells. She could see it in the way he clenched his jaw, in the way he ran his fingers over the hilt of his axe, the way his ears twisted to catch every stray sound. She had known her sexually charged jokes wouldn’t work for something like this, but it was her go-to coping mechanism when dealing with other people. When it failed to get the response she had hoped for, she sighed and patted his arm. “Come on.” She marched to the front of the group. “Let’s just go kill this mother fucker and get the hell out of here.” Margo looked to Cassandra who nodded her assent and moved to follow her with Hawke and Stroud.

“Took the words right out of my mouth, Inquisitor.” Varric fell into step beside her, nervously rubbing Bianca’s stock.

“ **Ah!** ” The demon’s voice once again rumbled across the land. “ **The famed Inquisitor has come once again to my humble abode. How marvelous.** ”

So, it had fallen to her. Perfect. Attracting the demon’s attention was probably not a good thing, but if it left the others alone, it would be worth it. “Just a short social visit.” Margo shouted to the beast as she marched along cheerily. “Can’t say I like what you’ve done with the place. Not planning to stay. I’d hate to inconvenience you. On my way out now, in fact!”

The demon cackled deep in its throat. **“Honestly, I should just let you pass. With you heading the Inquisition, its failure is certain.”** The elf’s shoulders stiffened, but she continued marching. **“Doom and death follow where ever you go. You thought that vision of a ruined Redcliff was just a terrible nightmare, but it is an inevitable eventuality.”**

“Eh, fuck off.” She threw out half-heartedly.

“It is a demon.” Cassandra clasped a hand on Margo’s shoulder, glaring at the skyline. “They sew lies and deceit wherever they go. Pay it no mind.”

“ **Oh dear Cassandra** ,” The voice drawled with feigned pity and contempt, “ ** _I_ am not the one who has sewn lies and deceit within the Inquisition. Isn’t that right, _Arasha Lavellan?_ ”**

At his words, the Herald stopped dead in her tracks, face gone white. A low rumbling chuckle echoed through the cliffs as the companions turned to look at their leader and friend. **“So, you haven’t told them yet. Not even your _Kadan?”_** He twisted the beautiful word with malice and mocking. Bull saw her glance up at his face, then flinch and turn away. **“How interesting.”**

“Shut it, Demon.” Margo was nearly whispering.

**“Not that I blame you. Mages have been made tranquil for far less.”**

The ground was spinning. It was going to tell them all. There was no stopping it! It would tell them. They would accuse her of possessing the real Arasha. Bull would hate her. They would all hate her. They would leave her. They might even kill her. _The Inquisition will fail_.

**“Your Herald is a fraud, Cassandra. She is no more sent by the maker than I am. She does not belong in your world, or any other.”**

“ENOUGH!” The Seeker’s voice cut through Margo’s spiraling thoughts. “This is not the time for revelations and secrets! I will not allow the Inquisition to be lead astray by the likes of you, Demon!” Cassandra turned to the Inquisitor, the woman she had chained and interrogated for the death of the divine, the woman she had suspected of treachery and evil for months, the woman who had taken it all and was still willing to give all of herself for their cause, the woman who was currently shaking and looking at her with fear in her eyes. “Margo, you are our trusted leader and friend. You never wanted the power we have given you, but you accepted the responsibility. You have not steered us wrong yet and we will follow you out of this Maker-forsaken pit.” She took a step forward and embraced the trembling woman. “You have earned our respect and our trust. I swear to the Maker himself, NO ONE will ever make you tranquil!”

“We’re with you, kid.” Varric rested a hand on her arm, a small, reassuring smile curling one corner of his mouth.

The Iron Bull stepped up the path in front of them, his axe out and ready to defend. “Kadan, this demons an asshole. We kill it, and we can sort everything else out after.”

Margo shook her head, eyes clenched closed. “He’s right, I’m a fraud.” A tear leaked down her cheek as she blinked up at them. “I lied. I’m not who you think I am.”

The Seeker’s eyes narrowed. “Are you not the woman who closed the breach? Who delivered the people at Haven? Who rescued the Mages? Who saved Orlais from chaos?”

The Herald ran her fingers through her hair “I mean, yeah, but-”

“Actions speak louder than words, Kadan.” Bull lifted the dragon’s tooth around her neck and fitted it against his own. “We finish this. We get out alive. Then we can talk.”

Margo sniffed loudly and rubbed her eyes, then nodded. “We live and then we talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been working on this for a while and still not happy with it! I'm just driving myself crazy staring at it so here it is posted! part 2 is coming soon! Sorry for the delay!


	24. Memories

“Ah!” Margo gasped as the memory slithered from it’s floating orb and up her arm through the anchor. It felt like ice water crawling up her veins and into her brain. “Fuck! That’s weird!”

Weird wasn’t exactly how the Iron Bull would have described it.  Disturbing, shocking, unnerving and creepy as fuck were just some of the descriptors that flew threw his head as his brain suddenly showed him two different images, all happening at the same time and competing with each other for dominance in his attention.

Suddenly, the fade in front of him disappeared, displaced by what he could only assume were the memories the dead Divine had told them about. In one of the memories, he watched Margo run down old stone hallway toward a wooden door at the end where she could hear an old woman screaming from within.  At the same time, the second memory was superimposed over the image. This memory also featured Margo, but . . . it wasn’t Margo. It looked just like her, but off in some way Bull couldn’t quite figure out. She was missing her valasallin, but there was something else wrong with this picture. This Margo was wearing bizarre clothing, walking down a smooth stone path and talking into a small black rectangle she held next to her head. She blew at the bangs hanging in her eyes in a very Margo-esque way, then rearranged the objects she was carrying to push the offending strands behind her ear. _Her EAR!_ This Margo had round ears! Now that Bull noticed it, there were a thousand tiny differences he had missed at a first glance. Her eyes were smaller, she wasn’t quite as painfully skinny (though she was still rail thin), and her limbs were shorter and less spindly. This was a human!

No sooner had he made this revelation than the first memory forced its way back into focus. It was fucking weird, and trying to watch both memories at once was giving him a headache. They seemed to pulse, one coming to the forefront one minute, the other popping up next. It was a jumbled mess of memory, but somehow it still made sense in his mind.

 

In one frame, Elf Margo threw open the doors to the room where the Divine was held aloft by Corypheus and his henchmen.

 

In the next, Human Margo was adjusting her backpack over her shoulder and cooing at a dog that was walking by.

 

“What’s going on here?!” Elf Margo shouted at the room full of grey wardens as the Divine knocked the orb out of Corypheus’ hand.

 

“Yeah, I’ll be home for dinner.” Human Margo laughed into the strange rectangle as she continued down the road past strange, enormous brick and stone buildings and large encased metal carts that seemed to be moving extremely fast. “I’ll talk to you later, bye!”

 

Elf Margo grabbed the orb and green light flashed over the scene as she screamed out in pain.

 

 

Margo, _the real Margo_ , fell to the ground, clutching her head. She breathed shallowly, trying to process what had just happened. _That’s right, I was on the way back to the apartment after class when ._. . What had happened exactly? One minute she had been walking down Clifton Avenue in Cincinnati, the next she was cuffed in a basement with angry Cassandra shouting down at her. There was still a gap.

“Ok, if no one else is going to say it, I will.” Varric was staring at her in bewilderment. “What in the void was that?”

“You!” Cassandra started to speak, but shook her head to clear her thoughts before trying again. “That was you, but you were . . .”

“Wait! You all saw that!?” Margo cried, getting back up on her feet.

“Yeah,” Varric scrubbed his hand through his hair. He was out of his depth. “Got a human twin you forgot to tell us about, Herald?”

The elf dug the heels of her hands into her brow, “Not exactly.” She glanced at Bull, who had schooled his face into a nice neutral mask. She hated when he did that to her, but she could guess the emotions and questions warring within his mind.

“What is going on? What _was_ that place? Who was that woman?” The Seeker paced back and forth scowling, “Why did we see _her_ memories too?”

“Look, just . . . leave that with me.” Margo straightened her back, looking to her companions with a barely contained grimace. “Let me deal with her. I promise explanations when we get back, but . . . just for now, leave her to me.”

Cassandra looked ready to argue, but at that point but at that moment Stroud stepped forward, hand to his head. “I do not know who this woman was, but with what we saw . . . Your mark did not come from Andraste! It came from the orb Corypheus used in his ritual.”

The Divine began speaking in her ridiculous accent, but Margo was beyond listening at this point. Her brain was thumping out a nice beat that pounded in the back of her head. _Class. Walking Home. Sacrifice. Green Light. Anchor. Thump thump thump._ She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts and heard Stroud and Hawke railing against each other.

“Those were Grey Wardens holding the Divine in that vision. Their actions led to her death!” Hawke glared at the Orleasian.

“I assumed he had taken their minds, as you have seen him do before.” The warden countered.

“SHUT UP!” Margo glared at the two of them. “We get out. We live, then you can argue to your heart’s content.”

Stroud looked properly chastised, while Hawke continued to glare at the warden.

“We must continue forward,” Cassandra stood next to Margo. “The Divine’s spirit said there were more memories ahead. We will need all the information to understand what happened. The less time we spend in this Demon’s layer the better.”

“Aye.” Hawke begrudgingly agreed and turned to follow the group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I'm a dirty rotten liar, but I think you all knew that at this point. I meant to post earlier, but a combination of writer's block, crippling anxiety, and general life shot that horse in the mouth. Instead of wrapping everything up all nicely as I had intended, this is just kind of a short middle piece. More to come! I swear! also, if the gods are kind, it will be better written! (also, while their at it I would like a prius full of puppies) no promises, but optimistically it will come soon!


	25. No Way Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo regains the rest of her memories.

As the second group of memories began playing through her head, Margo realized she did not want to see what was coming. Already, the images swirled around her head, throwing her mind into chaos as they overtook her vision. She could do nothing but watch in muted horror as the memory resolved itself in front of her and her companions.

And there she was, a scrawny human with her backpack, walking down the street in Cincinnati. She had just put away her cell phone and was walking back to where she parked her car. There was a boy coming down the road in the opposite direction, which was hazardous in and of itself during rush hour on Clifton Avenue, not to mention that he was riding on the wrong side of the road. He couldn’t have been more than eight, with his Spiderman helmet and bright red bike.

* * * 

Arasha’s memories began to bleed through. The image changed to show the elf and the Divine running through the fade, away from a herd of fearlings.

 * * * 

The vision shifted back to Margo. The boy was coming down the hill, when his wheel caught on a pothole. The bike pitched forward with the kid going over the handlebars and sprawling across the blacktop. Without even thinking, Margo darted forward between the parked cars to grab the child and pull him out of the road. She had barely pushed him off to the side when a red car sped around the stopped vehicles and ploughed into her. The driver hadn’t seen her coming around the turn and his face was horrified as he tried to slam the brake. Margo’s stomach turned as she watched her counterpart roll over the hood and roof of the car. Her body flew like a rag doll, hitting the ground with a wet “thwack!” as it rolled to a stop some ten yards behind the car.

* * *  

Arasha pushed the Divine in front of her, up the crumbling stairway toward a pulsing fade rift. The fearlings snapped at her heals as she rained down fire upon them.

 * * * 

A group of passers by was gathered in a circle around Margo’s crumpled form. One was attempting CPR as an ambulance pulled up, sirens blazing.

“Fuck!” one of the EMTs swore as he jumped out of the vehicle, “Hank, it’s Margo!”

Rick, she thought his name was, or maybe Ted. She’d done a ride-along with him a few weeks ago as a part of her training. She was touched that he remembered her name. Throwing his bag on the ground, he knelt beside her, taking over for the volunteer. He felt for a pulse and swore again. “Dammit! She’s in cardiac arrest! Hank, grab the defibrillator!” Another EMT she didn’t recognize ran over from the ambulance carrying the red and white case.

 * * * 

The Divine grabbed Arasha’s arm, dragging her up onto the ledge beside her. Together they ran toward the rift. Then suddenly, the Divine was being pulled backwards.

 * * * 

“Clear” Hank shouted as he pressed the button on the defibrillator to send the electrical pulses into the pads now attached to Margo’s chest and side. Her body jerked a little, but nothing happened. The child whose life she had probably saved was being held by his mother. He watched the scene in silent horror as tears streamed down his face. Ted felt her throat for a pulse. “Nothing. Again!”

“Clear!” Bill pressed the button again.

 * * * 

Arasha grabbed the Divine’s outstretched hand and desperately tried to pull the woman away from the demon and back toward the rift. Justinia looked at the young woman, fighting so hard for a hopeless cause. She closed her eyes, suddenly looking centuries older. “Go.” She released her grip on the elf’s hand, plummeting backward through the fade.

 * * * 

“One more time!” Ted shouted, backing away from Margo as Hank once again worked the machine. Her body jerked and green energy cackled over her skin and around her.

 * * * 

Arasha dove through the rift and suddenly, the two images merged together as one. The elf was sheathed in green sparks as she fell from the tear and collapsed face-first into the blood soaked soil.

 * * * 

“Vasheden!” Bull swore as the vision dissipated and the fade reasserted itself.

“Well . . . shit.” Varric’s eloquence failed him and he turned to look at the elf.

Margo stared blankly at the spirit of the Divine. “I’m . . . I’m dead. Aren’t I?”

“You are like me.” The old woman replied, a sad smile and tender eyes looked back at the girl who seemed so small now. “Our spirits no longer inhabit the world we were made for. Whether this is death or not, I cannot say, but there is no return.”

“I can never go home?” Her voice was hardly louder than a whisper.

“I am sorry child.”

 _I should be feeling something_. Margo thought as the world collapsed around her. Sorrow, fear, anger, pain . . . there should be _something_ here. Not this yawning chasm of emptiness. _Why don’t I feel anything? Where is the pain?_

“What happened to Arasha?” She asked instead. Some one should think about the poor Dalish woman.

“Her soul was pulled to your world.” The Divine tilted her head. “Whether she still lives, I cannot say.”

“You are not Arasha Lavellan.” Cassandra’s statement cut through the fade with its certainty.

Margo turned to the Seeker. This was the moment she had feared and dreaded since she woke up in Haven. This was the moment when the woman would kill her or renege on her promise and brand her tranquil. Margo found she could not bring herself to care. “No, I am not.”

“That woman,” the Seeker paused, trying to understand, “she was you. You were human.”

Margo nodded. “And now she is dead, and I am here.”

Any further discussion they might have had was cut short as a horde of demons and fearlings arose from the fade around them.

“The Nightmare has found us!” The Divine cried, vanishing into the air.

“Form up!” Hawke;s order rang out above the chaos.

“I am with you!” Stroud charged to his side as the two leapt into pitched battle.

Margo watched the battle blankly from the back lines with Varric. She kept up barriers around her people, but still, she felt nothing. It was all blurred and nothing was real. A shade charged towards her, claws outstretched to tear at her, and still she did not care. Her manna was too low to use any sort of spell against it. She could, she supposed, fight with her staff the way she normally did, but there wasn’t really a point.

Suddenly, an arrow protruded from it’s eye socket and it dissolved into nothingness.

“Don’t worry kid, I got ya.” Varric stepped in front of her to shield her with his body. “It’s gonna be OK. The elf just stared ahead blankly, sending out a supporting spell when possible. He sighed. It reminded him of their first meeting when she had fallen silent on their way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. “We’ll figure something out. It’ll be OK.”

 

The battle finally wound down. When the last demon finally fell, the group was exhausted. The Herald silently stepped forward to heal them as much as possible with the manna she had left.

“Margo . . .” Cassandra started, but Bull placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. Now was not the time.

The Qunari stepped toward the elf and laid an arm across her shoulders. “Come on, Boss. We’ll be out of here soon.” She allowed herself to be guided down the path. It all went in a blur. They fought some more demons and the walked towards the rift. Margo remained silent.

Finally, they found themselves in front of the swirl of green energy, guarded by the Nightmare himself and an enormous demon spider. Black ichor dripped from its mandibles and it screeched with an ungodly noise. And still, Margo felt nothing. No fear, no terror, nothing.

The Divine’s spirit surged forward, distracting the spider demon to allow them time to deal with the Nightmare. The demon surged forward. Ancient and powerful, there was no doubt why the creature had lived for so long. Margo watched as her friends struggled to subdue the demon. In her mind, she knew she loved them. She knew that she should care that the battle was so fierce. She should care about what would happen to the Inquisition if they died here. She felt tired.

With a roar, Bull brought his enormous battle axe down on the demon’s head, cleaving its skull in two.

“Quickly!” Cassandra shouted, “To the rift!”

The party ran forward. Varric and Cassandra jumped through the tear while Bull stood beside it, motioning for the others to hurry. Hawke and Stroud flanked Margo, guarding her as they ran to the rift.

Suddenly, an enormous leg blocked their path. The Divine had fallen and the spider demon once again turned its eyes toward them.

“Go.” Margo spoke to the two men without turning from the demon. She pulled her staff off her back. “I’ll hold it off while you escape.”

“Herald! The world yet needs you!” Stroud shouted as she began stalking toward the creature, hands shimmering. “You cannot die here!” He turned to Hawke and the men nodded to each other.

The next thing Margo knew, she was being scooped up in a pair of muscled arms and dragged toward the rift. Her rescuer threw her over his shoulder as he ran and she could see Stroud racing toward the demon, sword drawn.

“For the Wardens!” He bellowed as he hacked at the spider’s legs and gaping maw.

Green energy cackled around her as Hawke leapt through the rift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I'm still alive! Finally got this monster out of the way! so many feels, it gave me anxiety just thinking about it!


	26. Aftermath

The Iron Bull held his breath as he waited for Margo to come out of the rift. They had been right behind him. He should have made Hawke go first, made sure to push them both out and cover their exit, but when the warrior had run toward him with the Inquisitor slung over his shoulder and shouted to him to _GO_ , Bull had obeyed instinctively. It couldn’t have taken more than a second or two, but that moment between when the Qunari fell from the Fade and when Hawke and Margo came crashing through after him was the longest moment of his life.

The instant the elf was through the rift, Cassandra raced toward her, lifting Margo’s arm to connect with the rift and forcing it closed.  The elf screamed as green light rippled across her frame and the energy pulled the mark toward it. And just like that, the rift was gone.

With the Nightmare’s grasp on the Warden mages shattered, the fighting died down almost immediately. The Grey Wardens lowered their weapons and any remaining demons were quickly slain.

“Bull.” The small whimper made him look back to where the rift had been. Margo was pale, washed in green light and swaying on her feet. He rushed to her side, catching her in his arms as she began to fall.

“It’s OK, Kadan. I’ve got you.”

The elf was unconscious before he even got the words out.

 

* * * * *

 

The Inquisitor had traveled through the fade and was now in the infirmary and everyone was loosing their minds. If Cassandra hadn’t taken charge of the situation, Bull had no doubt it could have dissolved into chaos and fighting once again.

He sighed, falling into the seat next to the Inquisitor’s sick bed.  With all the stress and revelations of the day, it was really no wonder she had collapsed. Her mind and body were in shock. Bull watched the quiet rise and fall of her chest. The healers had done what they could for her, physically. They had bandaged up her myriad of cuts and scrapes from the fight, but there wasn’t much you could do for the mind, especially while the subject was unconscious.

He still didn’t know what to feel about it all. Everyone has secrets. Everyone has hidden things you never tell another living soul. He was a fucking Ben-hassrath for fuck’s sake. He knew that. Hell, he had a few secrets like that himself. It’s just . . . he never expected it to be something like this. He had known she was hiding something, had suspected for some time that she wasn’t truly Dalish, but nothing could ever have prepared him for this. That strange world she had been ripped from, her human form, her death, it was too much. It was all mixed up with demons and spirits and magic. Bull scrubbed his face with his hands.

But she was his Kadan, his heart. He loved this strange little mage with all her quirks and eccentricities. The thought of her broken body lying in that smooth black road made him want to wretch. The dragon’s tooth felt heavy against his chest. Bull sighed and continued his vigil.

 

* * * * *

 

The shuffle of boots and the clink of chainmail alerted Bull to Cassandra’s entrance as she pushed through the flap of the door.

“How is she?” The Seeker stepped forward to stand next to him.

“Physically, she’s fine.” He tilted his head, considering the unconscious elf, “her mind . . . can’t say.”

Cassandra let out the air in her lungs with a ‘humph’ as she fell into a seat next to him. Silent for a long time, she considered the Inquisitor’s pale complexion and the gentle crease in her brow. Even unconscious, she knew no rest. “Why is nothing ever simple around her?”

He shook his head with a sigh. “The boss is a complicated woman.”

“I have Templars stationed outside the tent.” The Seeker kept her gaze on the elf as the Iron Bull tensed and turned to look at her, eyes narrowing. “She’s a mage, Bull.” Cassandra to glare at him, but her eyes held pain as well as indignation. “Her emotions are running high and bound to attract demons! They are here to protect and nothing more.”

The Qunari relaxed a bit, but still eyed the front of the tent with suspicion. Cassandra sighed and turned back toward the bed. “Maker, this is a mess.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Bull’s voice was blank, emotionless. He stared at Cassandra with his good eye, ready to read every little nuance or gesture.

The Seeker cradled her head in her hands. “I do not know.” She spoke quietly, emotionally exhausted. This was a woman who always had a plan, a woman of action. The breach had barely existed before she declared the Inquisition. And suddenly, she felt lost.

“What we saw . . . She, Margo, is not Arasha Lavellan, yet she inhabits her body and is possessing her. Yet, she is no demon or spirit. She is a human! A human is incapable of possession, and yet she is here!”

The Seeker stood at this point, pacing around the tent. “She has been a constant force of good in Thedas, despite quite obviously knowing little to nothing about our world. She has lead the Inquisition with more grace and wisdom than I ever imagined possible. She is a healer, not a fighter, though she fights for us. She has saved each of our lives on multiple occasions and I consider her a friend. But then that world she came from . . . with those metal carriages and strange buildings . . . and then, her actions, her death. I just . . . I feel so lost.”

Cassandra sat down again. “I know why she didn’t,” she added in a small voice, “but I still wish she had told me.”

Bull sighed, nodding his head. He definitely understood that sentiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still ALIVE! It's short, I know! more on the way!


	27. Facing the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo wakes up

The Iron Bull was a patient man. He could wait hours in a cramped space without moving a muscle just to hear a tiny snippet of conversation. As he sat beside the Inquisitor’s bed, he had the irrepressible urge to shake the woman awake, to shout at the healers to fix her, to go beat the shit out of something. He grunted in frustration and tried to turn his mind to his meditations. It had been harder since he left the Qun.

“Bull” a small voice reached out to him past his concentration. It was weak and tiny as though terrified of being heard, and yet scared not to be.

In an instant, he had scooped up the tiny glowing hand of the elf in his two meaty palms. “I’m here.”

Margo was ashen faced as she grimaced and tried to swallow the dryness in her throat. “It wasn’t a dream . . . was it?”

He shook his head gently, “No, it wasn’t.”

She looked up at him, tears gathering in her eyes like clouds before a storm. “Do you hate me?”

He pulled her from the cot into his lap, enveloping her in his arms as she began to cry, tucking her head under his chin. “No, Kadan. I don’t hate you.”

She wrapped her arms around the circle of his enormous chest, clinging to him as though he was the only thing anchoring her to this world. Giant, wracking sobs tore through her body as he held her and she wailed against him. His heart broke for her. Her pain was enormous and immutable and all he could do was hold her as she fought against it.

Cassandra looked in through the flap in the tent at one point. The Templars guarding the Inquisitor must have sent for her when they heard the commotion. The Seeker’s face was grim as she took in the sight of her distraught leader and friend. She nodded to Bull and left. He wouldn’t need to worry about them being disturbed.

“It’s OK, Kadan. I’ve got you.” He rubbed circles into her back and cradled her face to his chest.

Eventually, the tears subsided. The Herald of Andraste looked up at him with exhausted eyes and tear tracks down her cheeks. She looked utterly drained.

“Here, Kadan.” Bull placed a cup of water into her hands and reached around to the table next to the cot for the bread one of the scouts had brought around earlier. “Do you think you can eat something?”

She nodded blandly, as he handed her a slice.

“Bull . . .” Margo stared down at the bread and water in her lap. “I’m never going to see my family again.”

There was such agony in that simple sentence and the Iron Bull knew he could never understand this pain. He had never had parents, or siblings, or a family. It had been decades since he last saw his people. There was no one on Par Vollen who would mourn his loss or whom he himself would mourn, except maybe Tama, but she would too be busy raising the next generation of imekaris to think of children long since grown. “I’m sorry, Kadan.”

“It would have been better if I’d just died.” She dropped the glass and bread and pressed her hands into her eyes.

“NO, Kadan. NO.” Bull pulled her arms away from her face, staring into her eyes. “Look at me, Kadan. You living is the best thing that ever happened to this world, to Thedas,” he cradled her head in his palm, “to me.”

“I know it’s hard, and I know it hurts, but you have been given another chance at life. That can’t be a bad thing.”

She closed her eyes “It hurts, Bull.” She turned her face and whispered into his palm, “it hurts so much.”

He pulled her into a close embrace. “I know, Kadan. I’m sorry.”

Cradled in his arms, she fell into an exhausted sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STILL ALIVE!!!!! Sorry! I got a new job with weird hours and writer's block was killing me! That being said, I am 90% done with next chapter so expect it soon!


	28. You Don't Have To Do It Alone

Cassandra glanced at the elf, looking at the war table with glazed eyes. Three months had passed since Adamant and she was doing better. ‘Better’ meant she barely spoke unless spoken to. ‘Better’ meant that during the few hours a day she was awake she barely cried anymore. ‘Better’ was so far behind her normal, vibrant self that it felt like working with a ghost. It was as if she had been turned Tranquil. The Seeker shuddered and turned back to the war table.

When they had returned from the Warden fortress, Bull had practically barricaded himself and Margo in her chambers for a week. Cassandra wasn’t sure what he had done, but now the Herald was at least functional, in a form. The human’s heart went out to the woman. Against all odds, they had become friends. She loved the strange little mage like a sister, and it was hard to see her suffering like this.

They all tried to be there for her. Maker, they tried. The Iron Bull barely ever left her side, doting on her like a mother hen. Dorian tried to get her to drink with him, but she dodged his every invitation. Sera and Varric had tried for weeks to get her to laugh or smile, but after several attempts when all they got was a small, broken and forced grin they broke off their attempts. Solas admitted to Cassandra that he spent many of his nights guarding her in the fade, dissuading spirits and demons that were attracted to her pain. Cole kept leaving small gifts for her in odd places, though when these more often than not brought the elf to tears for no reason they could discern, the Iron Bull had calmly but firmly told the spirit to “fuck off.” Blackwall and Viviene kept to themselves, either unable to find a way to help or afraid of making things worse.

“Inquisitor?” Cullen began, trying to gain Margo’s attention. “Scouts have brought reports of three new rifts in Emprise du Lion.”

The elf nodded without looking up. “OK, I’ll go out with what ever party Cassandra picks in the morning.”

Cassandra now un-officially ran things for the Inquisition. Margo had wanted to make her the new Inquisitor, but they had all decided that a change in leadership would only damage the foundation they had built thus far. Margo remained Inquisitor in title while all the decisions were handled by those who were not “emotionally compromised,” as she put it.

The Commander continued, “Also, several of the Wardens who have joined the Inquisition wished to express their gratitude to you, Inq- . . . Margo.” Cullen had been attempting to break through the titles and propriety to address Margo as she had requested when they first met with limited success.

The elf shrugged, “Cassandra recruited them.”

The Seeker had recruited the Wardens, against her initial inclination. She would have preferred to exile them as far away from the Inquisition and Corypheus as possible, but she knew that Margo would have given them a chance. While the council had decided to keep most of them on the fringes of the Inquisition’s territory, a few had been allowed to come to Skyhold as an ambassador force. Cassandra had to admit that it had been the right decision. The Wardens were desperate to earn their place in the Inquisition and their experience and expertise had already proven to be valuable commodities. It was interesting how many decisions in her new position came down to asking herself “What would Margo do?”

“Tell the Wardens that the Inquisitor is exceedingly busy,” Cassandra cut in when it was clear they would get no more from the Herald, “but they can show their gratitude to her through their continued hard work and loyalty.”

“Very well.” Cullen sighed.

“I believe that is all we needed to discuss today, yes?” Josephine tried to maintain a cheerful demeanor, determined to raise morale by willpower alone.

“Yes, the meeting is adjourned.” Lelliana concluded. 

As they began to shuffle toward the hall, Cassandra caught Margo’s arm. “Inquisitor, may I speak with you for a moment?” She nodded, eyes dull as they gazed at the warrior. “There are a few matters I was hoping we could discuss in private. Are you free this evening?” Another nod. “Good, I will meet you in your quarters after dinner.”

There was no response, but at this point, Cassandra wasn’t really expecting one. The warrior moved with purpose out into the hall.

 

* * * * *

 

It was early evening when Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric made their way up to the Inquisitor’s quarters. Dorian had two bottles of Antivan brandy tucked under one arm and Varric brought a large bag of chocolate. Not for the first time, the Seeker wondered at the wisdom of bringing the two men with her, but they were the Inquisitor’s best friends. More often then not, she took them out into the field with her and Cassandra knew she had helped each of them with immense personal issues in the past. Then again, there were few the Herald hadn’t helped immensely around Skyhold. They were all indebted to her, but more than that, they loved the woman deeply and immeasurably. Cassandra took a deep breath and knocked on the door to announce their presence as the trio made their way into the Inquisitor’s quarters.

“Come in Cassandr—oh.” The Inquisitor turned toward them and paused mid-step, obviously startled by all of them. Bull, who was sitting at the desk with a letter peered at them with cautious disapproval.

“We’re here to talk, my dear.” Dorian swept into the room, wrapping an arm around the startled woman and shepherding her over toward one of the couches by the fire. At the same time, Varric pulled Cassandra toward the opposite couch and motioned with a shake of his head for the Iron Bull to join them.

“You see,” the mage continued, “being the wonderful companions that we are, we have decided that we can no longer allow our valiant leader to suffer alone in silence.” Pushing the elf down onto the cushy seat, Dorian withdrew the bottles he had brought up and five glasses and began pouring a liberal amount into each. “We have therefore resolved ourselves to talk, listen, cry and drink until we are quite satisfied and most likely exhausted.”

“I don’t-” She began but Cassandra cut in.

“Please, Margo, Let us help you to ease the burden.” The warrior looked down into her glass, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. “When I lost Anthony, I felt so alone. It seemed like my world had ended and no one knew my pain or even cared.” She looked back up at her friend who also seemed to be fighting back tears. “I don’t want you to go through that. Let us help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

The elf stared at her glass as tears began trailing down her cheeks. “It hurts . . . to talk about it.”

The Iron Bull placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, “Kadan, I know it hurts, but I think sometimes you just gotta do it.”

“Think of it like getting stitches,” Varric hopped up on the couch next to the Seeker, “They sting like a bitch when the doc is sewing you up, but then the wound can heal and you don’t get a big ugly scar.”

“Not that big ugly scars are a bad thing” Bull cut in.

Varric smiled, “Not all of us can pull them off as well as you do, Tiny.”

There was an awkward silence and the Inquisitor took a sip of the brandy, “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Why don’t you tell us about your family?” Cassandra suggested. “ I know you miss them a great deal. It must be hard with no one to talk to about them.”

Margo nodded, a tear trailing out of the corner of her eye. “ I guess I should start . . .” she swallowed.  “I was . . . AM the oldest of four. I have a younger . . . a younger brother and two sisters. My parents had me just after they were married, but they had trouble conceiving afterward for a while, so I’m six years older than Aaron.” She shook her head and took another swig of Brandy. “My real name is Margaret Elizabeth Yaezell. I’ve always gone by Margo though, because . . . because my  . . . Aaron couldn’t pronounce the second ‘r’ when he was little.”

“What is your brother like?” Dorian prompted.

Margo, snorted out a hapless laugh, her head tilted back and tears streaming down her cheeks. “Aaron . . . How do I explain Aaron?” She looked into his eyes, a quavering grin on her face. “He was the first person I ever chose to love. I mean, you have to love your parents when you’re little, because, well, they’re your parents. But Aaron . . . he was different. I remember when my mom had him. We were in the hospital and my parents had me sitting on the bed next to my mom. My dad brought over this little bundle and put it in my lap. He was all pink and wrinkly and I had no idea what to do. But then, my mom showed me how to hold him and he wrapped his tiny hand around my finger . . .”

She started crying in earnest now and Varric passed the elf his handkerchief. “My dad told me that I was a big sister now, and I had to look after my brother. He . . . he was precious to me. I looked after him, just like I looked after Katie and Annie when they were born, but it was different. They didn’t need me like he did.” She paused and took another sip of brandy. “We didn’t realize it till later, but Aaron is autistic.”

At the group’s blank stares, Margo explained. “Aaron . . . he has trouble communicating. He can’t look you in the eyes and he used to do this thing where he would rock back and forth constantly. Cole reminds of him sometimes. He’s gotten better with therapy and he has an easier time talking now . . . but it was difficult for a long time.

“I could get him to talk . . . I could reach him when my parents couldn’t. Sometimes he would hide and lock himself away in his own head for hours at a time. I was the only one who could bring him back.”

 _“He needs me. He needs me and I’m not there. Eyes scrunched closed. Cover the ears. Back and forth. Back and forth. Who will reach him now?”_ Cole suddenly appeared on the coffee table between the couches. “You are afraid because you can’t protect him here. It makes you sad.”

“Kid.” Bull took a menacing step forward, making to grab the spirit. “What did I say?”

“You shouldn’t be sad!” Cole looked up into her tear-filled eyes. _“Katie has Margo’s eyes. I never noticed before. Mom hugs just like her. Two men sit in silence, but the air is empty, not filled with tension. A man and his son watch the game.”_

“Cole!” Margo’s heart stopped as she put a stilling hand on the Bull’s arm. “Is that . . . Can you feel him?”

The young man clutched the brim of his hat. _“Five faces gather around the bed. The heart monitor beeps weakly. Katie holds Annie as they cry. Dad’s two strong hands clutch a third with plastic tubes sticking out. ‘It’s okay to let go, baby. We’ll be okay.’_ ” He paused, “your pain is connected.”

Margo slid out of her seat, landing on the ground on her knees. “They’re okay.” Cassandra couldn’t decide whether she was laughing or crying. The handkerchief covered her face and her shoulders shook. The Iron Bull knelt beside her, scooping the elf into his massive arms with practiced care. “It’s alright, Kadan.” She calmed as she rested her head against his shoulder He gave the others a half-smile that said the night was over as he turned toward the bed.

“Wait, Bull.” Margo placed a hand along his cheek and he let her down. As she turned toward the group, all Cassandra could think was that the Herald looked exhausted. Her eyes were puffy and red and standing seemed to be all she was capable of at the moment. “I just wanted--  Thank you guys.” Fresh tears sprang to her eyes.

“Oh . . . come here!” Varric wrapped her in a hug, fighting back tears of his own. “You know we love you, kid.”

Cassandra put a comforting hand on her shoulder and was yanked into a hug as well. “The Dwarf is right, you know.” The Seeker spoke into Margo’s hair.

As soon as Cassandra was released, Dorian swept in, pressing a kiss to the Inquisitor’s cheek. “Of course we love her! Is it possible to do anything else with this woman?”

“Nope,” Bull wrapped an arm around Margo’s shoulders. “Completely impossible.”

 

* * * * *

 

Of course, one night of drinking and crying couldn’t fix everything. Margo was still more reserved and quiet than she had been before Adamant. Cassandra caught her crying more than once in the private chapel off the garden courtyard and the Iron Bull still hovered around her protectively most of the time. But, she was healing. She began to smile again; real smiles, not the broken, fake kind. Each day, it seemed like a little more of the Margo they had known and loved returned to them. No one knew how they managed it, but Cole and Solas collaborated to create a painting of the Herald’s family which she kept tucked in her breast pocket every day.

Three weeks after the night, Margo was meeting with Varric who was listening to Dorian complain about how difficult it was to get decent wines in Skyhold. “You just would not believe how hard it is.” Dorian concluded.

“THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!” It burst out of the elf at a startling volume and Margo seemed as surprised at herself as the rest of the Inquisition forces roaming the main hall who had turned toward her when she shouted.

“Well, welcome back Margo!” Varric smiled, wrapping the blushing woman in a hug.


	29. Clearing the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo tells the rest of the gang

The tavern was dead silent as Margo finished telling them what she had gathered them all together for. Finally, there were no more secrets, they all knew. Bull and Cassandra stood behind her on either side for moral support as she laid her heart bare for her companions and advisors. A large hand gave hers a comforting squeeze and she smiled back at the Qunari.

“So, piss . . . Let me get this straight. You’re a human?” Sera tilted her head at Margo, her eyes scrunched up in question.

“Well, I used to be.” Margo looked around the tavern at her circle of friends. It was weird to be telling them all of this. Granted, by this point most of them knew at least something of what had happened in the fade and might have guessed that there was more to her than a Dalish cast-off, but now they all knew.

“In this strange other world where there aren’t any elves, dwarves, or Qunari,” Added Dorian who seemed rather fascinated by the concept.

Margo shrugged, “No dragons, either.”

“And Corrifimus,” Sera rubbed her forehead, “Used his weird demony magic to scoop you out and make you an elf?”

“I very much doubt it was his intention.” Solas intoned. “It seems to have been an unintended consequence once Arasha Lavellan gained the anchor.”

“And it didn’t really make me an elf,” Margo added. “It just put me in Arasha’s body.”

Vivienne leaned forward, one manicured brow raised. “This sounds like possession.”

Margo flinched and looked down, but Cassandra stepped in front of her glaring the Enchanter down. “Margo is human. She does not have the ability to possess anyone. Further more, she is a healer, which is inherently impossible with demons or blood magic.”

Vivienne leaned backward, steepling her fingers in front of her face. “Still, it may be prudent to keep the Herald under a closer watch-”

“The Inquisitor is not possessed.” Cullen cut in, standing to voice his objection and Margo felt a fullness in her chest that he would be willing to stand at her side still. He had been one of the few she had been most worried about given his past. The elf smiled at him gratefully. “She spends hours of her free time actively healing our sick and injured. I cannot speak for what sort of foul magic is at work here, but Margo has done nothing but aid our cause from the very first day she was here.”

Lelliana spoke from the back where she was lurking in the shadows. “Indeed. While it is clear she kept much from us,” she threw a pointed look at Margo that promised many future evenings of questions and interrogations, “The Inquisitor has earned our trust. She has not abused her station or power and has even proved herself willing to put it aside when necessary. While this news is shocking and will be investigated, it will not be at the expense of that trust.”

Madame Vivienne relaxed back into her chair, her face a blank mask. “Very well.”

“Look,” Margo started, trying for a smile that ended up as more of a grimace. “Think of it as not so much like possession, but more like involuntary body switching. We’re pretty sure Arasha got sent back to my world in my body.”

“You’re like me!” Cole smiled at her from under the brim of his hat. “Wrong. Not supposed to be here. Trying to help. Save everyone I can.”

“Oy, this is demoney shite and it’s wrong, but Quizzie’s allrite. . . yeah?” Sera stood, glaring at Vivienne. “Just- leave’er alone! Right!?”

“Thanks Sera.”

The elf smirked at Margo, then thumbed her nose and pointed, winking at her.

Once again, the room fell silent as no one seemed to know how to follow this revelation. As always in these situations, it was Varric to the rescue.

“Kid, you look like you could use a drink.”

“God, you have no idea.”

 

* * * * *

 

After the third or fourth round, someone decided a round of wicked grace was in order, much to Margo’s chagrin. She had never had a good poker face and Wicked Grace made even less sense than poker. Vivienne had retired for the evening, bidding everyone a frosty ‘good night’ prompting Sera to blow raspberries at her.

Cullen set himself as an observer this time, unwilling to live a repeat of their last game. When Margo tried to beg the same, Dorian had silenced her protests cupping a hand over her mouth while Varric dealed her in pretending he couldn’t hear or understand her.

“So Inquisitor,” Josephine smiled as she gathered her cards, “I hope this is not inappropriate, but I am curious. What is it like going from living as a human to becoming an elf?”

“Meh,” Margo’s cheeks were flushed with alcohol as she slid into the Iron Bull’s lap so he could advise her about her hand. “Honestly, it’s not that different except I have tattoos now.” She indicated the Vallasalin adorning her face. “I was always scrawny and gangly when I was a human. Being an elf, I like to think at least makes me look a bit more graceful than sickly.” She took another sip of her beer when her eyes lit up with an afterthought. “Oh! I do love that elves don’t have body hair! When I was human I had to shave my legs every couple days!”

“And shaving your legs is normal for people from your world?” Cassandra asked incredulously.

“Only for the women.” The elf sighed, leaning against the Bull’s chest in a transparent effort to see his cards. “I’d complain about the sexism, but there’s really no better feeling than the silky smoothness of freshly shaved legs rubbing together under freshly laundered sheets.”

“She’s right, you know.” Lelliana winked behind her cards. “It is a bit of a trend in Orlais as well.”

The Seeker grunted in disgust while Bull and Varric chuckled and Blackwall hid his face by taking a large gulp from his beer.

“Well,” the warden slammed his mug down on the table. “If there aren’t any other races in your world, it must be pretty nice with no . . . racism and all.”

Margo, who had just taken a sip of her ale snorted through her nose and almost choked on the liquid. Laughing through her coughing fit, she wheezed, “Ha! You would think so, but no.”

Solas paused in arranging his hand to stare at the giggling woman in confusion. “How can you possibly have racism if you only have one race?”

“Well, you see . . .” The Herald composed herself, “Without helpful indicators to someone’s race like height, or horns, or pointed ears, the humans from my world discriminate based on skin color.”

“Seriously?” The Bull put down his cards to look at her incredulously.

“Yup!” Margo answered, popping the ‘p’ and taking another sip of her ale. “I think originally it was because it was an indicator of where in the world you were from, but now that world travel is so easy, the whole place is a clusterfuck of nationalities, colors, and backgrounds so people stick to skin color.” She took another gulp. “Where I lived, people gave me funny looks because of my lovely olive skin!”

“Oh! Why?! I love your complexion!” Josie gushed, reaching out to touch the elf’s forearm.

The Inquisitor made a vague gesture over her head. “My mother’s side of the family is from Pakistan and some fringe idiot terrorists from the middle-east near there attacked my country and killed a lot of people. Now people see my skin, think I’m one of them, and I get flagged for a ‘random security search’ every time I get on an airplane. Never mind that my family’s been here for three generations.”

“That’s dumb!” Sera shouted from her place on the ground where she was laying on top of Sergeant Stubs with her mug resting between his paws. “Piss on those assholes!”

The great Mabari let out a “wuff” of agreement.

“You know whats even worse?” Margo asked leaning toward Dorian, conspiratorially.

The mage smiled at the obviously inebriated elf, “What?”

“My mug is empty!” She whined and held the mug in question out to him.

“Another round, Sparkler!” Varric laughed and everyone passed their cups to a protesting Dorian. With a put upon sigh, he gathered the glasses and headed off to the bar.

There was a pause and Cullen leaned forward. “So . . . Is it true what you said before? That there are no mages or magic in your world?”

“Yup!” The Herald replied enthusiastically. “No magic, mages, dragons, wyverns, giant spiders, dracolisks, fade, or enchantments! Some people think we have demons and spirits, but they’re kind of like an urban legend.”

“It sounds pretty . . . safe.” Cassandra ventured.

“It sounds boring.” Bull scoffed.

“Well, magic is really just a means to an end,” Margo continued. “Without it we had to turn to science to blow shit up. You would not believe the things we have without magic. Like, we have this boxes that let you watch things happening a million miles away or things that happened twenty years ago! We have these . . . carriages with wings that let people fly across entire countries in a few hours! Everyone has cell phones! You can talk to someone half way across the globe any time you want! It’s really pretty cool when you think about it.”

“And you accomplished all of this _without_ magic?!” Dorian returned with the beers.

“Yup!” The elf snatched her mug from the tray. “Though, to be fair, it took us thousands of years to figure it out.”

“A device for instant communication would be quite useful.” Lelliana played her winning hand making the table groan. “Would you be able to make one for the Inquisition?”

Margo snorted, throwing down her losing hand. If this kept up, she would wind up doing the march of shame back to her quarters in the nude. “I have no idea how they work.”

Lelliana gave her a look and the elf shrugged. “What do you expect? I was a medic, not an electrical engineer!”

“But you said everyone had one!” Varric pressed, gathering up the cards to deal a new game.

“Varric, if I gave you wood and metal right now, could you build us another Bianca?” the Herald asked.

“Err . . .”

“Exactly! Besides, you guys don’t even have half the materials that would go into making a phone.”

“And here I was hoping we could finally replace those pesky ravens! Ah, Well. There goes that dream.” Dorian sighed.

“I’m tired of talking about me!” the Inquisitor announced suddenly in the kind of non sequitur outburst that only happened when she was truly sauced. “Varric! Tell us a story!” She demanded.

“As you wish, your Inquisitorialness!” Varric chuckled before launching into a tale, “So, no shit, there I was standing on the Wounded Coast with Hawke . . .”

 

* * * * *

 

In the end, Lelliana and Josephine took the gang for a hefty sum. Eventually, once the had all dropped out it came down to just the two of them. Lelliana won out, though by that stage it seemed to be less a matter of card skill and more who was the better cheater. No one ended up naked this time, though Dorian did loose a couple of his rings, and Varric owed Cassandra a new chapter of _Swords and Shields_.

Margo smiled sappily at her friends. They knew the truth and they still liked her. The alcohol was buzzing nicely through her veins and she looked up at the Iron Bull.

“What are you smiling about, Kadan?” The mountain of a man grinned down at her.

“I just . . . you guuuuuuuys!” Big sappy tears formed at the corner of her eyes as she laughed happily.

“Oh dear.” Dorian smiled at the inebriated elf “the Herald of Andraste is still a lightweight! The shame!”

“Shut it, Pavus!” Margo pretended to glare at the mage. “I’m still your boss! You’re fired! BAM! You just got Inquisitored!”

“Sounds like it’s time to call it a night.” Solas smirked at the girl who was clumsily trying to flop off the Iron Bull’s lap.

“Smug bastard.” Margo grumbled as she stood on unsteady feet. No sooner had she taken a step when she was suddenly on the ground next to an unconscious Sera who was snoring loudly on top of a put-upon-looking Mabari.

“Whelp! It’s bedtime!” Bull announced as he scooped the Herald off the ground and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as she squawked indignantly.

“You guys all suck!” the Inquisitor shouted into Bull’s back where she was bent over his shoulder. “Just kidding. I love you.”

“Good night, Margo!” Varric shouted as the Qunari pulled her out of the tavern.

Cassandra smiled next to him. “I think she’s going to be ok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Shit Guys! Almost 250 kudos and over 3000 hits!!!! This is amazing! You guys rock and I love you all! More to come! we're on the home stretch!


	30. Faded For Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas comes back after his time alone when Knowledge is killed.

Margo Lavellan

 

 

All Margo needed to see was the flash of bald skin and pointed ears and she tore across the courtyard, not even bothering to finish her conversation with Cassandra. A shout of “You’re back!” was the only warning Solas received before he found the leader of the Inquisition wrapped around his waist. She pulled back just as suddenly, remembering how the elf didn’t really appreciate being touched. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Jesus! I was so worried about you!”

The mage managed a small smile that seemed like more of a grimace. “I am healthy, Inquisitor.” At the title, Margo flinched as if struck and he cursed himself mentally. “I’m sorry, Margo. It has been . . . difficult, losing my friend. It always is.”

A gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry we couldn’t do more for her.”

“We gave it a moment of peace, before it died. It was no small thing.” He sighed, looking down, “If we had gotten there sooner … but it does no good dwelling on a past that cannot be changed.”

“I was worried about you. I didn’t know when you would come back. IF you would come back or even if you would be safe…” Margo looks up into his gaze. “I wanted to send a scout to follow you to make sure you didn’t run into any trouble … but that outpost in the Exalted Plains is understaffed and they couldn’t spare anyone.”

“I can look after myself, Herald.” Solas looked down at the elf in annoyance, “I have been doing so since long before you were born.”

She shrugged. “You were upset. People don’t always make the best decisions when they are grieving … for example, running off alone for a month with little to no supplies in an area filled with bears, Free Men of the Dales, bandits, and a dragon. I’ve already seen you do a pretty passable impersonation of a corpse once, I don’t want to see it again.”

Solas sighed. She had a point. “Ir abelas, Margo. I just … I needed to be alone. I needed to grieve by myself.”

“I understand.” She took his hand in hers and he could see a tear in her eye. “I know you needed to do things your own way. I’m here for you if you need me though. Do you … want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “Not at present. It is … still very raw.”

“OK.” She ducked in for a tight hug and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “It’s a standing offer if you ever feel the need.” She turned to walk away. “Also, someone might have slightly vandalized one of your murals when she was worried because you vanished without a trace and she doesn’t know how to let her anger out in a constructive manner. It’ll probably be cleaned up in the next few days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time! More to come!


	31. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang runs into trouble when they encounter a pregnant couple

“Babe!” Margo shouted as she ran catch up with him as they walked through the Dales “Would you mind if I started calling you my ‘Iron Boo thang?’ ”

“Iron _Boo thang_?” The mercenary regarded her skeptically with his one eye.

“It’s a term of endearment!” She insisted, smiling broadly and hooking a hand in the crook of his arm. Sera snorted ahead of them and the Inquisitor threw a lewd gesture at the elf’s back.

“And why do we need this new term of endearment?” Bull sighed.

“I don’t have anything to call you!” she whined, “You call me Kadan. I need a pet name for you too!”

“Kadan is dignified! It literally means ‘my heart’!”

“Iron Boo Thang is a pun!” Margo danced in front of him, flashing puppy-dog eyes. “You know how much you like puns!”

Bull held out for a second before grunting in disgust at his weakness. “Urgh, fine. But you have to call me THE Iron Boo thang. I still want my article.”

“Ughhhh.” Dorian made his distaste for the current topic known. “Yes, yes, we all understand that you two live in beautiful coupled bliss. Can we please move the conversation on to something less nauseating?”

“Why, THE Iron Boo Thang, I believe Dorian is jealous!” Margo slipped back to swing an arm around the mage who was sporting quite a scowl at this turn of events. “I’m sorry Messere Pavus, I had no idea you were feeling so ignored. Bull! Look how sad he is!”

“Na, Kadan,” Bull smiled over his shoulder at the two mages, “That’s how his face always looks.”

The mage glowered at her, “I loathe the two of you, especially together.”

“OY!” Sera shouted suddenly from up ahead, “There’s someone commin’ down the road!”

Suddenly, all attention snapped to the disheveled figure sprinting down the road. The Iron Bull unsheathed his axe moved to stand between the quickly approaching man and the Inquisitor. No obvious weapons, but it didn’t do to be taken off guard. Assassins were always a threat and not everyone loved the Inquisition. “You. Stop!” He growled in his most intimidating voice.

“No!” The man, a farmer if Bull had to guess, practically dropped before the Kossith, panting wildly with frenzied eyes. “Please! Mercy! You have te let me through! Please! I haven’t got no money, but I need to get te the village! My wife- I need the healer!”

“Hey! It’s alright man!” Margo peaked out from around his muscled shoulder to try to reassure the poor guy but Bull held his arm out to prevent her from going to him. One of these days her bleeding heart was gonna get her killed.

“Yeah!” Sera bounced out of the bushes where she had hidden when the stranger ran past her. “We aint bandits or nuthin’. Jus’ peeple like the rest of ya. We ain’ after ya coin.”

“Please! You- you gotta let me through!” the man repeated, pulling at his tunic. “Please messeres! I have ta get the Healer!”

Before Bull could stop her, Margo ducked around him on his blind side and sprinted up to the man, grabbing an arm to support him as it looked like he was about to fall over. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking for a healer? Are you injured?”

“Not me!” the farmer gasped, “Please, serah, it’s me wife! She’s with child! Plea...” he trailed off as he caught sight of the insignia patch above Margo’s breast. “Are you Inquisition?” He latched onto her with such desperation that Bull took a step forward, growling. “Do ya have a healer wi’ you?! Please! You gotta help me!”

“Just calm down a second, hun.” Margo tried to still the man. “I am the healer. What’s your name?”

“Hendrick, m’lady.”

“OK, Hendrick. Where’s your wife and what’s wrong?” She tried to extricate her arm from the man’s grasp, but gave it up as a lost cause.

“She’s back at our cottage! We been livin’ in my hunting hut waiting for the whole war te’ be over. The babe! It’s too early! She’ been moaning and thrashing in pain all day an’ she started bleedin’ and I had ta find ‘elp!”

Margo snapped to attention. “Is she there alone now?”

“Yes, oh Maker.” Hendrick nodded, tears starting down his cheeks. “I can’ lose her too! We already lost everythin’ else in this damned war.”

“OK,” the Herald snapped to attention, running her fingers through her hair. “Let’s head out!”

 

* * * * *

 

When they got to the cabin, they could hear a woman sobbing inside. Bull had to hold Margo back before she barreled in on her own. The chances were slim, but this still could be a trap. He entered first and barely has time to send the all clear when the elf fade-stepped past him and darts into the room followed closely by the farmer.

“Ella!” Hendrick cried. “Ella! I’m here! I’m back! It’s alrigh’ Darlin’”

Inside, a small woman stripped down to a tunic and small clothes laid on the bed, writhing in obvious pain. She looked up at her husband, clearly dazed. “Y- you came back!” A worrying sheen covered her pale form and she couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice. “I th-thought you had-” she was cut off with a scream, doubling over in pain and squeezing her husband’s hand in a white-knuckled death grip.

Once the contraction stops, Margo steps forward. “Ella? Hi I’m Margo. I’m a healer and I’d like to help you if that’s ok?” She smiled with her “doctor/patient” voice.

Poor Ella looked at the elf utterly bewildered, as if just now realizing she was there. Quickly her eyes jumped to the rest of them in the door way and settled on Bull in obvious fear, though he can hardly blame her. She’d probably never met a Qunari before and during child-birth was not the best time for a cultural exchange.

“Ella, dear one, they’re wi’ tha ‘nquisition.” Hendrick wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders and the poor girl stared up into his eyes in obvious panic. She closed her eyes,

clutching her tummy and nodded.

“Well, let’s get this baby out then!” Margo plastered a smile across her face. She turned, taking stock of her group and looking decidedly less than enthused by what she saw. Dorian’s face had turned an interesting shade of purple and he was decidedly not looking at the woman on the bed in her skivvies. Sera was staring wide eyed and looked like she might throw up or bolt at a minutes notice. “Just… give us a sec, OK?” She threw over her shoulder as she herded the companions out of the bedroom.

“OK, y’all.” Margo starts after closing the door behind her and turning toward them, “has anyone delivered a baby before?”

“ _VISHANTE KAFFAS WOMAN!”_ Dorian shout/whispered while Sera wailed loudly until Bull covered her mouth with a meaty paw. _“you mean to tell me you dragged us into this and you have no idea what you’re doing!?”_

Margo winced, “I know HOW to do it … I’ve just … never actually done it before.”

“Festis bei unum carevum!” the mage scrubbed at his forehead.

“Fuck! I know, OK!” The Elf snapped back. She stepped forward, drawing up to her full height and deploying her ‘Inquisitor’ stance that people seemed to respond to. “Look! This is what’s gonna happen. I am going back in there with Bull because the both of you are useless. You two are going to stay out here, making as little noise as possible and getting me some sanitary boiled water and the cleanest cloth and bandages you can find. Get my first aid kit out and boil my knife and scissors for 20 minutes.”

Dorian scowled, “ _And WHERE in the void are we supposed to get sanitary water?!”_

“You’re a FUCKING MAGE, Dorian! Bucket! Ice! Fire! BAM!” Margo practically shouted. Dorian’s cheeks lit up bright red again and he fell back. “Knock on the door when it’s done! Now, if you please, THE Iron Boo Thang, we have a baby to deliver!”

Bull smiled, “Right behind you, Kadan.”

 

* * * * *

 

Bull watched at Margo as she knelt between the legs of the woman giving birth. Poor Ella. The tiny woman was sobbing now as Bull and Hendrick held her on either side in a sitting position like some strange, two-headed chair. Initially she had seemed terrified of the idea of a Qunari being near her, let alone assisting in the birth, but need trumped fear and with Margo and her husband’s assurances she allowed Bull’s assistance.

“You need to breathe, Ella.” Margo gently reminded the woman. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.” For all the panic and fear that had taken place outside of the room, the Inquisitor never let any of it show in front of her patient. Her every motion conveyed confidence and control, even when she had discovered the baby was in breach. Damned if it wasn’t sexy as hell.

Hendrick was pouring gentle encouragements into his wife’s ear as he supported her arm and back. Watching the two of them and the obvious love there, Bull wondered what it might be like if his Kadan were in Ella’s place and he would be whispering in her ear, her belly round with his child. The mercenary shook the thought away. Not now. He’d never had these kinds of distractions under the Qun. He focused back on the task at hand.

“Almost there Ella! You’re doing SO well!” Margo smiled up at the human from her place on the floor, her hands stretched out to catch the baby, “She’s almost out!”

“She?” There was a pause as Ella panted to catch her breath from the last contraction.

Margo’s face was radiant, “Yes! She’s almost here! Just one more good push!”

When the final contraction came, Ella screamed as her child slid into the waiting arms of the Inquisitor. Margo made quick work of warming up the newborn who almost instantly started screaming. The elf huffed an amazed laugh, “A healthy set of lungs!” A grin spread from ear to ear as she rubbed life into the infant’s limbs, getting the blood flowing.

“Oy!” a voice came from the door, “I heard a baby! Wot is it? Girly-like or boy?”

“The peanut gallery has to wait its turn!” Margo shouted back before turning back to the exhausted mother. “Ella, allow me to introduce you to your daughter!”

Bull and Hendrick laid Ella down on some pillows and she reached out to embrace her child. Hendrick had tears in his eyes as he gathered both of them into his arms. The Qunari looked to his Kadan to see tears peaking over her grinning cheeks as well. “Come on, Bull. Let’s give them a bit of privacy.”

 

* * * * *

 

The group stayed with the couple for the next couple of days, making sure they had everything they needed and helping out around the house. There was Inquisition business, of course, but with all that had happened, it was nice to have a little break. Besides, They had made contact with the local scouts and if anything truly needed their attention, they knew where to find them.

Hendrick and Ella decided to name the baby after Margo, who was not at all gracious about it, insisting that there were far better names out there (though Bull could tell she was tickled pink). They’re expressions when they discovered that the strange mage who had played midwife during their hour of need was in fact the Inquisitor was priceless.

After they made their goodbyes and started back on the trek, Margo sighed and threw and arm around Bull. “I don’t know about you, but I think it feels like a new beginning.”


End file.
